


Cinder and Smoke

by Atombombbabyy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Drug Use, Hancock can't mind his damn business, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Just a lot of messed up stuff, Overdosing, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, kind of enemies to friends, original sole survivor, switching POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 51
Words: 84,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atombombbabyy/pseuds/Atombombbabyy
Summary: Ella Carson really wished she had never stepped foot into those Cryo-pods. John Hancock couldn't have wished for anything more.Just a story of two people, and a life that only one wants to save.





	1. Our Endless Numbered Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is my newest longfic, and my first Hancock/Sole fic. This is going to be a lot darker and touch on a lot of very unpleasant subjects than any of my previous works. Please heed the tags, and if anything there skeeves you out or makes you nervous, I won't be upset if you click on out. That being said, I do hope you stick around, cause I think it's gonna be a good ride.

               The neon glow of the Goodneighbor sign sparked through the gloom of the pouring rain.  She was soaked and freezing, her fingers barely working as she clumsily grasped the handle of the junk door into the settlement. It took her a minute to lift her legs over the small threshold, and she grimaced. She was beginning to feel things again. That wasn’t good. She needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere she could be alone.

                She didn’t know much about Goodneighbor. She had been in a distracted daze the last time she had come through, Nick basically dragging her along to the doctor that made her practice here. That was almost a year ago now. She couldn’t remember the doctor’s name. She remembered this was the place she had first had a glimpse of her son, though. Through the memories of a long dead mercenary.

                Yeah. She was starting to feel things again. She’d have to put a stop to that quickly.

                Bolstering herself she surged forward, intent on finding the hotel here, or even a partially covered alley way would do at this point. Her backpack seemed to weigh a ton, slowing her even more than her sluggish legs did. She squinted against the lights of the shops in the main courtyard, trying to stave off the headache that pulled at the backs of her eyes. She didn’t notice the man in front of her until she smacked into his chest. He grasped her upper arms tightly, pulling her away from him to look into her face.

                “Well, we got a newcomer to the neighborhood, huh?” He said, and she could smell the reek of cigarettes and alcohol off him. She slurred an apology to him and tried to turn away, but he held fast.

                “You’re gonna want some protection, a girl like you, alone in a place like this. Something like…insurance, I think.” He continued, his voice like an icy snake down her spine. Again she tried to pull away, and he dug into the flesh of her arms, his fingers like a vice.

                “Say, 500 caps and I can make sure nothing… unfortunate… happens to you.” He whispered, bringing his face closer to her ear, making the threat in it unmistakable. She pulled away harder, and the man lost his grip on her arms, grasping at the straps of her backpack, pulling them as she backed away. She heard the worn cloth of the pack tear, and felt the contents of the bag begin cascading to the ground. The man moved to grab her again, but a voice rang out through the air that stopped him dead.

                “Now Finn. This ain’t how we treat newcomers to Goodneighbor, is it?” The voice said, but she barely heard it, intent on trying to gather her things off the ground, unsuccessfully trying to stuff them back in the ruined bag.

                “Aww, hell Hancock, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just trying to make my own living, y’know how it is.” Finn was saying, and she glanced up towards him quickly, but then back down at her things.

                “Yeah, yeah. But you know my motto, Finn. Goodneighbor is ‘Of the people, for the people’, and we don’t take too kindly to the sort of people who would take advantage of someone so down on their luck.” The voice said, stepping towards Finn. She glanced up to see the red-clad figure’s hand reach out and grasp Finn by the shoulder. Finn looked nervous, and his gaze flitted to her momentarily before going back to the man in front of him.

                “Hancock you know I-,” Finn started, but the rest of his words were cut off as the man he called Hancock deftly pulled a knife from his belt and buried it in his gut. There was a groan from Finn, and a sickening squelch as the knife was pulled from his stomach. And then his body was lying in front of her. Another memory she would have to drown.

                “You alright there sister?” Hancock asked, kneeling beside her. He began helping her shove the things into her pack, his hands steady where hers shook. She looked at him full in the face for the first time.

                Somewhere in her mind she remembered that the mayor of Goodneighbor was a ghoul. She remembered stories about him, his debauchery and drug use, but his overall good nature to those in need. Still, the sight of his scarred face made her heart skip a beat. His black eyes bore into her, before glancing back down to the ruin of her bag.

                “That’s a hell of a lot of psycho you got there, sister. Even for my standards.” He said casually, handing her one of the syringes. She shot a sharp look at him, but his face held no judgement. She thought there might be only a bit of concern under the curiosity that lit his dark eyes. She shrugged and pulled the damp pack into her arms. It would be useless as a backpack now. But she supposed it wouldn’t matter much longer.

                “I-I’m just looking for a place to sleep.” She stammered, holding the contents close to her. The mayor stared at her for an uncomfortable moment, and then grinned, folding his arms over his chest.

                “Well normally I’d tell you to head for the Rexford, but she’s all booked up tonight. Got a lot of drifters looking to stay out of the rain.” He said, with a glance to the sky. Night was on its way, and the clouds that rolled in threatened more of the rain that had followed her for two days.

                “Can’t let a pretty thing like you sleep outside though. I got a spare room in the Statehouse that has your name all over it. C’mon I’ll show you to it.” He said and dipped his head, indicating she should follow him. She swallowed harshly but came, watching the tails of his red coat swing with the swagger of his walk.

                “The name’s John Hancock.” He said, still facing forward and leading her towards the large building on the side of the square. She opened her mouth to answer but he continued.

                “And you’re Ella Carson. Savior of the Commonwealth.” He said. She stopped dead, just as they reached the door.

                “I remember when you were here before. And someone who destroys both the Brotherhood of Steel and the Institute within a year long period is bound to get a reputation.” He said, turning to her before spinning back to the door and yanking it open. It swung smoothly on well-oiled hinges.

                “People just call me El.” She said, and stepped in the building.

                “El it is then.” Hancock said, and the door shut behind him, leaving the two in semi darkness. She liked the darkness, it eased her throbbing head. The building was old, smelling damp and musty, but with the definite scents of its occupants as well.

                “The room is just up here. It ain’t much more than a bed, but with how you’re looking, might be a bed is the best thing for ya’.” He said as they climbed a winding staircase. El’s legs felt as though they might give out on her any second, but she willed herself forward. The promise of oblivion motivating her for one more step.

                At last they reached the landing. Hancock stopped in front of a door on the left, only a little ways down the hall. The handle turned easily in his grip, and there was only a slight creak as the door swung open, revealing a small room with a metal framed bed against the wall. A lantern sat cold and dark on the floor by the door. The only light was what little filtered in from the dirty window.

                “Ain’t much, but it’s a place to crash.” He said. She could feel his eyes watching her as she set the remains of her bag down on the bed, and then turned to him. She shoved her hands in the pockets of the shabby jacket she wore, trying to hide how they shook.

                “Th-thanks. This is nice.” She said softly. Hancock cocked a brow at her, but smiled nonetheless. He shrugged and started out of the room, but turned to her before closing the door.

                “Maybe tomorrow you can meet me in the Third Rail. We’ll have a drink and you can tell me all about your adventures.” He said, and it was more of a statement than a question. El swallowed and nodded slightly.

                “Yeah. Maybe.” She said, and let a small smile drift over her face.

 


	2. Blind As Night That Finds Us All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of suicide, and a very serious attempt. Things are gonna get worse before they get better, folks.

                Hancock knew that look.

                He had seen it many, _many_ , times since becoming mayor, and even more before that. He knew that look, the far off gaze, the slumped shoulders, the shaking hands. The look of an addict who knows their last fix is coming. The one fix that will solve all their problems. The one last dose that will send them into an oblivion that they won’t have to wake up from.

                Usually, he would give a few words of comfort; try to talk the person down, hell, even offer a bit of Addictol if they’d take it. More often than not, it didn’t help, and there would be another body they’d have to deal with in the morning. That was the price you paid, being someone like him. Someone whose only companions were the ones with the most problems, the ones with the most to gain from the chems.

                Ella Carson, though. She was someone that Hancock wouldn’t have pegged for an addict. Sure, he didn’t know much about her, aside from what everyone knew about her. She was a vault dweller, from before the war. She was looking for something, and it had to do with the Institute. That was why she ended up in Goodneighbor. She had worked with Dr. Amari to try to track down whatever it was. He didn’t think she had ever told anyone what it was she was looking for. At least, she never told anyone with loose lips.

                Hancock didn’t like the look of her one bit. She was much too thin; the clothes she wore were loose and shabby on her frame. He knew she shouldn’t have a problem finding and keeping gear. She worked with the Minutemen and the Railroad; she wouldn’t want for good quality stuff. Why she was traipsing around the ruins of Boston looking like she did… It didn’t sit well with him.

                “You think she’s worth this much thought, Boss?” Fahrenheit called to him from the couch across the room. He shifted back on the armchair he sat in and fixed his eyes on the red-head.

                “The woman took out the Brotherhood and the Institute, Fahr. You don’t think she’s worth helpin’ out?” He retorted. Fahrenheit had the decency to look abashed.

                “I’m just sayin’, she didn’t seem like she wanted help is all. I know how you get when you see a wounded pup.” She said, and he heard the caution in her voice. He glanced sharply at her, and she looked away.

                “Some people ain’t capable of helping themselves sometimes. You know that. That’s why Goodneighbor exists. To give a hand up to the ones who can’t stand up themselves.” He said, repeating the sentiments he must have extolled to her for the thousandth time. She nodded and took another drag off her cigarette.

                “Look Hancock, I just don’t wanna pick up the slack around here when you decide to mope for a week after we find her cold in an alley somewhere.” The woman said harshly. Hancock felt the irritation rise in his chest, but he fought it back. He knew what Fahrenheit was getting at. She could get there a little softer though…

                “Maybe I’ll go check on her before morning comes.” He said, almost to himself. Fahrenheit scoffed under her breath, but said nothing. He took out his inhaler and drew a long puff from it, letting the Jet flood his system. It was a rush, but nothing like it had been before he was a ghoul. Now it simply took the edge off the thoughts that ran through his mind, when it had once completely obliterated everything. To Hancock, drugs were an additive, just something to enhance everyday life. When you’re a ghoul with both immortality and the risk of going feral staring you in the face, you could use all the enhancement you could get.

 

                He had fallen asleep in the chair, and woke in the small hours of the morning. The Statehouse was quiet, as it typically was before daybreak. He stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs, feeling the odd joint crack. He looked around the room, surveying the table strewn with chems and cigarettes, a bottle or two of alcohol here and there. He shuffled towards the door, intent on finding a bed to crash in. His own was one floor up, but he didn’t feel like climbing the stairs now. There was a bed down the hall though. That one was close.

                As he moved slowly through the hall, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important. This often happened when he got either really high or really drunk, and usually faded with the buzz.

                He made it to the door with minimal effort and swung the door open. He had taken a few steps in when he heard an odd sound. A gurgling noise coming from where the bed was. His eyes shot open as his memory filled in the blanks, reminding him of the woman who slept there. She wasn’t sleeping now, however. He knew that noise. The sound of someone choking on vomit. The sound of someone about to die of an overdose.

                Before he had made the conscious decision he was moving. He reached the bed in two strides and had his hands on El before he could think of what to do. He wrenched her onto her side, and forced his fingers into her mouth, scooping out the puke and mucous that blocked the airway. She made a horrible gasping noise as she took her first free breath, but she didn’t regain consciousness yet. Hancock swore loudly as he looked down, only now noticing all the empty psycho syringes that littered the floor.

                “Hey Fahr!” He yelled, not caring if he woke anyone. It was an unnerving amount of heartbeats before she was there, her voice hoarse with interrupted sleep.

                “She dead?” Fahrenheit asked, voice totally impassive.

                “No. Not for lack of trying. Grab me some Addictol will ya? She’s gonna have one nasty hangover when she wakes up.” He said, turning back to the bed to make sure El was still propped on her side. Vomit tinged spit slid from the corners of her mouth, and he wiped it away with the flick of his hand. He had done this too many times to count.

                It wasn’t long before the red-head was back with the meds, and it took the two of them to get the drug into El. When they finally got her to breathe enough of the stuff, Hancock laid her gently back on her side and stood back.

                “I’ll stay with her. Make sure she keeps breathing.” Hancock said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the figure in the bed. He heard Fahrenheit turn to leave, but not before letting out an exasperated sigh that he knew was directed right at him. He sat down on the floor, his back propped against the frame of the bed, and withdrew into his own thoughts, the sound of the rain and El’s breathing creating a soft song around him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> National Suicide Prevention Line: 1-800-273-8255


	3. Nothing Grows When it is Dark

 

                El woke up.

                That wasn’t ideal. The whole point of all this was so she _wouldn’t_ wake up. She had been sure that the amount that she had would be enough. Sure, she had an issue with the last few syringes, her body already absorbing the drug, making her convulse and twitch something fierce, but she had done it nonetheless. She was sure she had gotten all the contents into her system.

                This surety was only confirmed more by the absolutely shitty way she felt. Her head pounded, her gut churned, and her mouth tasted disgusting. She reevaluated her thoughts. This might actually be Hell.

                “Good morning there, Sunshine.” A voice spoke from somewhere in the room. She cracked an eye and saw the mayor of Goodneighbor (what was his name?), sitting on the floor, propped against the door. She groaned in response.

                “Had a rough night I see. Don’t worry. The Addictol should make short work of the stuff that’s left in your body.” He said. Addictol. That word triggered something in her memory. It was some kind of drug, but not one she wanted…

                She sat bolt upright in the bed, immediately regretting the movement as sparks of pain shot through her skull. The mayor (his name was Hancock. Now she remembered.), scrambled up, startled by her sudden movement. She pushed the nausea and pounding in her head out of the way and glared towards him.

                “You had no right…no right to…” She stammered, and was even more irritated to find the ghoul grinning at her.

                “No right to what? Save your life? If we’re talking rights here, sister, I’d say you had no right to try to off yourself in my house, after I gave you a place to sleep and everything.” He said, his voice level. El shoved a strand of stringy brown hair out of her face and swallowed hard.

                “No right to give me that shit.” She said, tasting bile in her throat. She willed herself not to vomit.

                “Well I wasn’t just gonna let you kick off, was I?” He answered, his eyes intent on her face.

                “What’s it to you what I do?” She asked, her palms going sweaty with the effort of keeping her stomach. She really didn’t want to puke in front of him. The ghoul laughed, lending a soft quality to the lines of his face. She could tell he had once been handsome, the bones of his face still held a sharp, angular quality, his jaw smooth and straight, the ridge of his brow pronounced, but not obnoxiously so. He held himself with a confidence that came from a life of knowing how to get what he wanted.

                “What it is to me is that I run this town. I tend to get a vested interest in people who roll through here. Especially people that almost single handedly save the Commonwealth.” He said. He took a step closer and must have seen her face change, because he quickly took two steps back just in time to avoid the splash of vomit that she hurled onto the planks of the floor. It wasn’t much, she didn’t have a lot in her stomach, but it was still unpleasant. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and grimaced.

                “Sorry.” She murmured, sitting back and taking a few breaths. Hancock chuckled, pulling a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and tossing it over the mess haphazardly.

                “Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.” He said. There was a moments silence before she spoke again.

                “I didn’t save the Commonwealth because I wanted to. I’m not a hero. I would really just like to be left alone. I just want…” She said, her thoughts trailing off as she realized she was kind of stuck now. She had no more psycho. Not enough of the other drugs to do what she intended. She hadn’t wanted to go out violently, slitting her wrists or hanging to death, but it seemed her options were dwindling now…

                “You just want to die, right?” Hancock finished for her. She glanced at him, and then back to her hands, which trembled slightly. She was too tired for this.

                “Well, I really ain’t inclined to let you do that, Sunshine.” He said, his arms folding over his chest as he surveyed her. She scoffed.

                “I’ll just leave then.” She retorted angrily. He smiled, but there wasn’t anything good-natured about the expression.

                “I have been wanting to go out and see the Commonwealth again. Been a while since I left Goodneighbor.” He said, voice silky. She shot him an angry look.

                “You can’t follow me everywhere.” She spat, and he chuckled again. The sound grated her nerves, making her want very much to hit him.

                “Watch me.” Was all he said. El was speechless for a long moment. She watched the ghoul, and he returned the stare. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Her heart hammered in her chest and she swallowed, trying to rid herself of the taste of sick.

                “Why do you care so much? Just let me go. I’m not your problem.” She finally whispered. Hancock continued to stare at her for another moment before letting his arms fall to his sides.

                “You made it my problem when you decided Goodneighbor was a good place for you to try to kick the bucket. Wouldn’t be very good for my karma if I let someone as popular as you die on my watch, now would it?” He sneered. El squeezed her eyes shut trying to will everything to just stop. She felt dizzy when she shut her eyes, however, and quickly opened them again, fixing her gaze on the floor.

                “So what, I’m just a prisoner now? You’re going to watch me forever? I’m stuck here until you decide you’re done with me?” She asked, voice hoarse. The man chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He wore a tricorn hat, that on anyone else might have looked ridiculous, but on him, seemed to work.

                “You’re not a prisoner, sister. I’m just tellin’ ya’ that if you wanna leave, you’re gonna have company; me. I’d recommend you stick around here a while though, build your strength back up. Almost dying from a psycho overdose takes a lot out of ya’.” He said, and with a flourish of red coat, he was out the door, leaving El with a pounding headache and her own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting out slow, but it will pick up quickly!


	4. Way Down We Go

                “What the hell are you doing, Hancock?” Fahrenheit’s voice came from behind him as he leaned over the railing of the balcony of the Statehouse. He stayed where he was, letting her come up next to him before he turned his gaze from the courtyard to her face.

                “What are you talking about?” He asked, knowing full well what she was talking about. She scoffed at him, leaning with her back to the square below, arms propped on the railing.

                “That girl down there. She’s been here a week and you watch her like a pining school kid. You can’t keep her under surveillance for the rest of her life, y’know. Not to mention, you got mayoral duties to attend to.” She answered, tossing a thumb over her shoulder at El, who was sitting on a bench below. Her brown hair was pulled up in a ponytail today, and he could see the sun spark red off the crown from where he stood. He swallowed.

                “I know that. I just wanna make sure she’s in a good place before she goes back out there. The Commonwealth’s a harsh mistress sometimes.” He said, trying to force humor into his voice. Fahrenheit saw through it though, as usual.

                “You can’t save ‘em all, John. I know you want to. Especially when they’ve got a pretty face.” She said, and with a final look down into the square, turned and left him alone on the balcony.

 

 

 

                He was still thinking later that night as he made his way down into the Third Rail. He knew Fahrenheit was right, eventually El was gonna leave. Whether it was with or without him was the question. He had spent the day making his rounds, casually striking up a conversation with Daisy about their guest. He had seen El speak with Daisy many times over the last few days.

                “We just talk about the old days, before the bombs. I never thought I’d meet a smoothskin who knew what the hell I was talking about when I started going on about the times before the war.” She said. Hancock nodded, encouraging her to go on.

                “It’s different for her, though. I mean, for a pre-war ghoul, we’ve lived through the past 200 or so years. I have new memories, and the ones from before the bombs, well those are fuzzy, like trying to remember what you did when you were a kid. For her, it’s like it was yesterday. It’s only been a little over a year for her. She went to sleep and woke up in the future. Kinda fucked up if you think about it.” She had explained.

                He did understand. Or at least he tried to. To lose everything like that, and wake up somewhere completely new, without anyone or anything familiar. But still, she had been out a year. She had crossed the Commonwealth and done so much, and from what he heard about her, had helped a great many people as she did.

                Something had obviously snapped. And while he had seen people try to kill themselves for less, he couldn’t bring himself to accept that someone like El would want to die so badly. Was that selfish of him? Probably. But Hancock was, by nature, a fixer. He wasn’t one to see a problem and let it go.

                “Another whiskey, Charlie, and keep ‘em coming.” Hancock said to the Mister Handy behind the bar, who merely hummed at him as he made up the drink. The Rail was quiet tonight, only a few people here and there, drinking their sorrows away as they listened to Magnolia croon away in the corner. Spring was coming. More of the drifters and scavvers that normally frequented Goodneighbor would be back out in the ruins, trying their luck on their own as the weather warmed. They’d be back, though. They always came back.

                “Am I allowed to have a drink, or are you gonna take that away from me too?” El’s voice came from beside him, causing him to start. He grinned at her as she sat on the stool next to him.

                “Nah, I think we can manage that. Charlie, get the lady what she wants. On my tab.” He said, dipping his head slightly to her.

                “Your tab, is it?” The bartender drawled in his cockney accent, but nonetheless turned to El and took her order of “Scotch, neat” with a flourish.

                “So this is the Third Rail? From what I heard it sounded a little more…lively.” She said, sipping at the liquor in the cup Charlie slid to her. Hancock laughed humorlessly.

                “Generally it is. I guess you could call it the slow season. Everyone is out trying their luck in the ruins.” He answered. She smiled at him. A little too charmingly.

                “I see. Sounds like a good idea. I think I want to head out here soon, maybe head back to Sanctuary.” She said, with a forced air of casualness. He cocked a brow at her, understanding her angle without an issue.

                “Oh yeah? Done trying to off yourself? You won’t mind if I come along then. I’ve never been up that way before, it’d be nice to-,” He rambled, watching her face fall. She let out a long frustrated breath and he turned to her.

                “Why do you wanna die so bad, sister?” He asked. She flinched, turning her gaze to him and staring.

                “Why do you care so much what I do, Hancock?” She retorted. He chuckled softly. With a half shrug he turned and downed his glass before facing her again.

                “Y’know, ten years ago I stumbled into this town, with a smooth set of skin and too much time on my hands.” He started. She stared at the shelves behind the bar, pretending he wasn’t there, but he knew she was listening.

                “I used to go on these wild benders. Any drug you could think of, and some you couldn’t, I’d try it. I was always chasing my next high. Always chasing that feeling of not being here, not being present. I’d never got the hang of responsibility, of being a human with feelings and shit. So I tried to numb it, tried to party and forget all the fucked up shit this world throws at you.” He went on. El shifted uncomfortably, but stayed.

                “Then one day I found this experimental radiation drug. Only one hit. But that’s all I needed. It was the best high I’d ever had. Still is to this day, actually. Never quite found anything like it again. I’m living with the consequences, sure, but there is something to love about immortality, I’ll tell you that.” He finished, watching as she shifted her gaze to him again. She looked him up and down, as though judging the truth of his story before she spoke.

                “And the moral of this story is?” She asked sarcastically. He frowned at her.

                “I guess if you gotta give it a moral, it’s that you can chase that feeling, that high, all you want, but it’s your own mind that’s gonna give it to you, not some drug, and especially not death. Bein’ dead, that’s just the end, y’know? And I happen to think everyone is here for a reason.” He said, trying not to sound too preachy. El was quiet for a long time. He downed another drink from Charlie before she finally moved next to him, her eyes meeting his in an uncomfortably intimate moment.

                “No offence, Hancock, but you don’t know anything about my life.” She started. He made to speak but she held up a hand to stop him.

                “I know you think that living is all fine and dandy, and for you, I’m sure it is. But you have no clue what I’ve been through. The only thing you know is what I tell you. And I’m telling you that I am sure that death would be preferable to what I’m doing now.” She said, with such a cold tone to her voice that a shiver ran up the ghoul’s spine. Without another word, she stood, gave him one final look, and walked out of the bar.

 


	5. Your Face is Faded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time in between updates! Here are two chapters for you to enjoy!

                Goodneighbor was annoyingly well fortified. Not to mention it seemed like every drifter, prostitute, and neighborhood watchman knew exactly who she was and what had gone down. She had tried to leave twice, each time being thwarted by Hancock who had been tipped off by some random person who had seen her. She couldn’t believe he was keeping her here. Trapped, against her will.

                Except deep inside she knew she wasn’t trapped. She could easily leave, if she just agreed to let him come with her. Many times she thought she might take him up on this. A couple days on the road, without his people to back him up and without a steady supply of chems might make him change his mind. Plus, without all the others watching her, it might be easier to sneak away…

                It was the principle of the thing though. The past week and a half had been miserable. She floated through it almost as though watching herself from an outside perspective. She was denied chems by everyone, and alcohol barely did anything to stave off the memories, let alone the dreams. Her only solace had been her conversations with Daisy, but reminiscing about the past only made some things worse.

                How long would it be like this? How long could she continue watching the tragedies of her life keep unfolding in her mind before she snapped? Before it didn’t matter that Hancock didn’t let her leave, because her mind would break and it wouldn’t matter anymore.

                “Y’know, you could just tell Hancock what’s bothering you.” Daisy said one day, as they shared a cigarette outside her shop. El stiffened at the sentiment.

                “No. I couldn’t.” She said shortly. Daisy chuckled, taking a long drag and handing the cigarette to El. She took it, but only held it, watching the ash on the end burn.

                “It might help. Or it might not. Either way, it’d get him off your back, doll.” The ghoul rasped. El took a puff, letting the smoke seep into her body, feeling her heart race at the nicotine, mild as it was.

                “It’s none of his business. I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe him anything. He’s keeping me here for no reason.” She said, spitting the words out through her teeth.

                “Hell, honey I know that. But problem is, Hancock likes to stick his nose in other people’s business a hell of a lot for someone without a nose. He cares too damn much, and your story is too inspiring for him to let you go out that way.” She said. El appreciated Daisy’s candor, but hated the idea that what had happened to her would be considered “Inspiring” in any way.

                “Well that’s his problem. Not mine.” She said, handing the cigarette to Daisy and brushing her hands on her thighs.

                “Nah, honey, it’s your problem now too.” Daisy said behind her as El walked away.

 

 

                El knew Daisy was right. She hated it, but Hancock was a problem now, and one she would have to figure out how to deal with. But as the day wore on, she realized she would be facing a larger problem much sooner.

                Up until now, getting chems hadn’t been a concern. But now, as the ache began to creep into her muscles, and cold sweats began to spring up on her brow, she was becoming very concerned. Her mind swam with disjointed thoughts, unsure of her next move, only seeing visions of her dead husband, and the son she had lost so recently. The chems, the psycho, had dulled these, made the pain go away and the memories seem as though they belonged to someone else, as though they weren’t real; a movie playing in a dark theater she could leave at any time.

                Now, without the drugs to take the edge off, the pain crept up like the seeping radioactive fog that rolled in from time to time out of the Glowing Sea. She could feel it in the peripherals of her body, as though she was fighting a fever that would soon engulf her. Her clammy hands shook, and she constantly tasted bile in the back of her throat.

                The Addictol Hancock had given her had no doubt taken the edge off the withdrawals. But without another dose, of either the psycho or the Addictol, she was stuck in purgatory. Not able to drift away into either oblivion or death, she could only float through the day in an uncomfortable haze, unable to quell either body or mind.

                And the awful thing was that she could tell that Hancock had no idea what to do with her. She saw as he watched her move about Goodneighbor, spying on her from his balcony, or “running into her” as she spoke with Daisy or lingered down in the Rail. He wouldn’t let her leave without him, and he wouldn’t let her get ahold of any chems either. Hell, he had even warned Dr. Amari about her, letting the doctor know she should be careful if she needed to treat El for anything.

                The day was fading as she sat in the courtyard, her eyes boring holes into the brick wall in front of her, her fists clenched on her knees as she tried to stop the shaking. She had been desperately trying to puzzle out her next move, but the fog that had settled on her mind made thinking about anything other than the discomfort she was in all but impossible.

                She was just about to stand up to try and find a distraction, when she caught a glimpse of someone sliding in through the junk entrance to Goodneighbor. She almost did a double take, her eyes not believing what she saw. But as she squinted against the dying light, she knew it was him; Deacon. The bad wig and sunglasses couldn’t fool her. She’d know his confident stride, the nonchalant way he held himself so as to be indistinguishable from just another face in the crowd, anywhere.

                She watched as he took a quick look around the main square, and then he disappeared into the door of the Statehouse. He hadn’t seen her, or if he had, hadn’t recognized her. Her mouth dried up, the ache of withdrawal being replaced by a dull anger that she was having a hard time directing. This was Hancock’s doing. The ghoul had called Deacon here to try to get him to talk, to reveal information about her.

                Well, at least she had found her distraction.


	6. Teeth in the Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Hope you're all enjoying, feel free to leave comments critiquing or whatever if you're liking it!

 

                “Well, well, well, if it ain’t my old pal Deacon.” Hancock said as he stood from behind his desk, watching the man enter the room. Deacon looked nondescript as always; his black pompadour wig perched well on his head, and his sunglasses sitting high on the bridge of his nose, even in the dim light of the indoors.

                “You make it sound like we met organically, Hancock, like we’re just two pals running into each other at the grocery store or something. Not like you didn’t raise hell to try to get me here.” Deacon retorted, but his tone was betrayed by his amiable smile.

                “Don’t be fooled by my message, Deacon, it _is_ good to see you.” Hancock said, gesturing to a seat on the other side of the desk and sitting himself. He pulled his legs up, crossing his boots on the desk and reclining slightly, surveying the spy before him.

                “It’s good to see you too, Hancock. Now that all that bullshit is over, what do you want?” Deacon asked, leaning back in the chair he sat in. Hancock nodded.

                “What do you know about Ella Carson?” He asked, and was gratified to see the spy jerk in his chair.

                “Ella Carson? Why? Is she here? Have you seen her?” Deacon sputtered, losing all pretense of cool he had the moment before. Hancock blinked, intrigued by Deacon’s outburst.

                “You’ve been looking for her?” He asked. Deacon furrowed his brow, but sat back slightly.

                “Yeah, half the damn Commonwealth has. She disappeared off the face of the earth about two months ago. The last time I saw Whisper-I mean Ella- we were standing on a roof in the ruins watching the Institute get blown to smithereens.” Deacon replied, voice quiet. Hancock raised a brow for him to continue. 

                “She hit the button, the one to make the reactor blow, and as soon as the ground stopped shaking she turned to us, said she was going back to Sanctuary, and left. Only she never got to Sanctuary. We scoured the ruins, the wasteland, and hell, even sent some people into what was left of the Institute. No one found any trace of her. We all thought she was dead, picked apart by deathclaws or something.” Deacon finished, without decorum. Hancock thought for a moment. Maybe that was the key? Those two months where no one saw her. Where had she been?

                “What do you know about her? Who is she? Why did she want to blow the Institute up so badly?” Hancock probed. Deacon shrugged, his posture relaxing a bit.

                “About a year and some change ago we got a huge info dump from the Institute. One of our moles got out with a chip with a shit load of data on it. There was mention of a Vault, Vault 111, up in the north of the Commonwealth. It mentioned something about cryogenics, and that a subject was being stored there, waiting for the director to order its release.” He explained. Hancock was riveted, watching the spy as he spoke, not wanting to miss a word.

                “The Institute-and Vault-Tec- being what they were, we had no clue what it meant, but didn’t want to chance not finding out. So I went up there and camped out a little ways away. I watched for 3 weeks. Then finally, Ella Carson pops out, looking like the most confused Deathclaw hatchling I’d ever seen. When she came up, she just…stared. She stood and stared at the, well, I guess at the world, for almost an hour. I almost went up to her, just because I was afraid she had short-circuited or something.” He went on.

                “She went down into Sanctuary after a while. I followed her until she made it to Concord and met up with some survivors from Quincy and a Minuteman there. Then I left to go back and relay what I found to the Railroad. We knew we’d probably be seeing more of her, especially since we knew the Institute was looking for her. We just didn’t know what side she’d be on, or what roll she would play.” He said. Hancock pulled his legs down and sat forward.

                “So she got into the Institute. What was she looking for?” He asked. Deacon shrugged.

                “She never said. Just said they took something from her and she wanted it back. We were so caught up in the fact that she had killed a Courser by herself, and that she had the ability to get in and out of the Institute seemingly whenever she wanted that we didn’t question it.” He said, scratching at the wig. It stayed in place despite the disturbance.

                “When she came back and said she wanted to blow it up, well, we had just got hit by the Brotherhood of Steel pretty hard. We wanted to help her, but our numbers were all but annihilated. We were scattered. She took out the Brotherhood of Steel. By herself. I heard she killed Elder Maxson herself, but that blimp went up so fast that no one knows what really happened. No one except Whisper. And she ain’t telling. Hence the name.” Deacon continued. Hancock fidgeted in his seat.

                “She never said anything? Never mentioned anything about being frozen? About what she was looking for?” He asked. Deacon shook his head.

                “We all assumed it was a person. That’s what everyone is looking for from the Institute, right? But she never said. She never let anyone close. She always seemed…distracted, when you spoke to her. Like her mind was a million miles away. It unnerved Des-the Railroad conductor-she thought El wasn’t paying attention. But she always was. Always did the jobs we needed done to a T. We thought she’d be a good agent after everything was over. Help us clean up, recover synths and finish off remaining Coursers. But she just…vanished.” Deacon finished. The two sat in silence for a minute, each in their own thoughts. Then the spy cleared his throat.

                “She’s…She’s here?” He asked softly. Hancock nodded.

                “Rolled in about two weeks ago with a high to rival some of my own finer moments. She asked for a place to crash and I gave her one. Found her that morning after she had tried to kill herself with a shitload of psycho. It was a close one too.” He answered shortly, watching Deacon’s face. He had to hand it to the man; he kept his composure well through most things. But Hancock could see how that news hit him.

                “Fuck. I just…we just couldn’t find her.” He said, almost to himself. Hancock nodded.

                “Well, wherever she’s been, it wasn’t a day at the beach.” He said, watching the man before him. Deacon rose, but stood awkwardly, as though unsure of what to do next. Hancock stood as well, clearing his throat.          

                “Do ya’ think she’d talk to you? Tell you where she’s been, why she’s upset?” He chanced, watching for a reaction. Deacon shrugged half-heartedly.

                “I doubt it. We gave her that codename, “Whisper” for a reason. I don’t know anyone she’s said anything to that wasn’t pertinent information to the task at hand. I can try though.” He said, his gaze going from the floor to meet Hancock’s. The ghoul nodded and went to move around the desk when the door to the office slammed open, revealing El, looking flushed and frustrated. Her eyes went from Hancock to Deacon, a wary look flashing across her face.

                “Whisper? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?” Deacon said, not missing a beat as he turned on the charm, the shock in his voice almost fooling Hancock.

_Good, probably better she doesn’t think I brought Deacon here to pump him for info about her._ He thought as he watched her. She moved into the room slowly, her eyes flitting between the two.

“What are _you_ doing here?” She countered sharply, her eyes settling on Deacon. The spy stepped closer to her, but she matched it with a step back.      

“I just came to ask Hancock about a synth we got word of. Escaped the wreckage of the Institute I guess. Where have you been, Whisper?” He asked, and Hancock knew that the concern in his voice was not a charade. She let her posture relax a touch, but her eyes remained sharp.

“Around. I’m fine. I just…needed a break is all.” She answered, her voice losing some of its edge. Hancock watched her carefully. She was cautious, that was obvious. But there was something else there. Almost like she was ashamed, like she had been caught.

                “The whole Railroad searched for you, not to mention Nick and Preston… Hell, Whisper they had a funeral for you!” Deacon said, his voice pitching up as he spoke. El’s throat bobbed and she looked at the floor. Hancock could see she was fighting back her emotions.

                “I-I’m sorry, I was…” She started, and Deacon took another step forward. She started back, her hands going to her sides and she stiffened.

                “I’m sorry Deacon. I am.” She yelped, before she spun on her heel and hurried out of the room. Hancock heard the outer door slam as she left the Statehouse. Deacon stood still, watching after her for a minute before he finally turned back to Hancock.

                “That…That’s not the Whisper that left us on that ruin, Hancock.” The spy stated quietly. Hancock raised a brow in question. Deacon turned back to the empty hall, as though willing her to come back.

                “She wasn’t that thin before, her cheeks, they had color and her face was fuller. She held herself differently, it’s like…it’s like a new person. Like if I didn’t know it was impossible for her to be a synth, I’d be damn sure she was one.” He said, gathering himself up again before facing the ghoul once more.

                “Don’t let her do it, Hancock. She’s just… She deserves better than suicide…” He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish.

                “I know, Deeks. I’ll keep an eye on her.” He said.

                They didn’t need a promise to know he meant it.


	7. Broken Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is made up of several small vignettes that didn't quite make it long enough to be their own chapters. It switches POV's a bit but we will be back to the normal one person per chapter next time!

 

                The Third Rail was livelier tonight. Magnolia’s voice hit her ears before she had even made it to the stairs down into the bar proper. Fahrenheit had told her he was here, somewhere. She needed to talk to him. This was the last straw.

                With a quick word at the bar she was pointed towards a back room, the VIP section, Charlie told her. She made for it, her throat dry with the anger she had been fighting since coming in to find that it was true, that Deacon really was in the Statehouse with Hancock, that they had been talking about her. How dare he call for Deacon, to ask about her? And how dare Deacon try to cover for him, acting like he had no idea she was there? She was so incensed, the blood pulsing through her ears that she didn’t hear the noises coming from the other side of the door.

                “Who the hell are you to be-,” El began as she swung the door open with a force that made it bounce off the wall. She hardly noticed the door as she found herself face to face with Hancock, buried deep within the cunt of one of the drifters she had seen floating around Goodneighbor. Her breath caught in her throat and she made a choking noise at the sight. Hancock’s eyes were huge with surprise as he stopped mid-thrust, his hands letting go of the hips he had bent over the back of a sofa.

                “El, I-,” He started, and pulled away from the woman with a wet “ _schick”_. El’s stomach flipped and she spun, bolting down the hall with a speed that was not suitable for a packed bar. The patrons barely noticed as she barreled into them, sprinting up the steps two at a time, reaching the landing just in time to vomit all over the concrete floor.

                “Sorry.” She murmured to Ham, the doorman, before she threw herself out the door, Hancock’s yells echoing in her ears.

 

 

 

                ....

 

                “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath, staring at the now vacant door where El had just stood a moment ago. His chem and pleasure addled brain was still trying to catch up, to make sense of what had just happened. Her face, the expression, was burned into his mind. Was it horror? Disgust? Dismay? He saw there? He couldn’t pinpoint it.

                “C’mon Mista’ Mayor. Ain’t like you never been interrupted before?” Sunny was saying, tugging at the flag around his waist, trying to get a hold on his now limp cock. He squirmed away.

                “Sorry sister, I ain’t in the mood anymore.” He said, tucking himself back in and readjusting his coat. Sunny made a noise of unhappiness and stood, smoothing her skirt back into some kind of order. She said nothing as she left; just shot him a very nasty look.

                He stood alone now, unsure of what to do. Now that his mind was catching up, he was thinking again. Had he misread a sign from her somewhere? Did she have some kind of feelings for him? He had thought that of anyone _John Hancock of Goodneighbor_ would know if he was being flirted with, would know if someone’s intentions lay towards the sinful. They had barely had any interactions, aside from the cordial platitudes of two people in an awkward situation.

                But that look. Something about it made him uneasy. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Something in the way her body had moved, as though struck by hot iron.

                And now, he wasn’t even sure if he should go after her. If he should follow and try to explain. Explain what? That he needed a good fuck to clear his mind, and this was the nearest one he could find? If she did have some kind of feelings for him, that was sure to be the wrong move. No. The best thing to do was to let her cool down. He’d find her tomorrow. He’d talk to her, figure it out then.

                Now, though. Now he needed some Jet.

 

 

....

 

 

               

 

                El all but barreled into Fahrenheit on the way up the steps to her room in the Statehouse. The woman caught her by the shoulders, pulling her back and looking at her.

                “Shit, you look like you went one too many rounds with a pack of molerats, kid.” She said, and El tried to straighten, pushing a strand of dark hair out of her face.

                “I-I need to leave, Fahrenheit.” She said, with as much decorum as she could muster. Fahrenheit looked warily at her.

                “Oh yeah, why’s that?” She asked, though El could hear her tone brighten a bit. She had been right, then. Hancock’s bodyguard wanted her gone.

                “I need to get back to Sanctuary. To my settlements. Deacon was here today and he told me they were all looking for me, and I just need to go.” She said, the words tumbling out quickly as she tried to get them out without her voice shaking. She was desperately trying to get the images that now ran rampant through her mind out. She was failing.

                “Alright, alright. Yeah, I saw Deacon here today. Boss didn’t say anything about you leaving though.” She said, though El thought it was said with a half-hearted attempt at loyalty.

                “Well, I just saw him in the Third Rail and told him. He said to come get my stuff and I could go.” She lied. It was a bad lie. She knew it was. But Fahrenheit took it and ran with it.

                “I mean I guess if the mayor said so. C’mon. Get your shit. I’ll meet you downstairs and take you out.” She said, and El felt her heart skip a beat. She raced down the hall and into the room she had been living in. She gathered up the few meager supplies and tossed them into the duffle bag she had gotten from Daisy to replace the torn backpack. In only a few moments, she and Fahrenheit were out the door.

                “She’s allowed to go, Boss’s orders.” Fahrenheit barked at the Neighborhood Watchman who met them at the junk door to the settlement. The man looked unsure, but it was Hancock’s right hand, so he made no protests. They pushed through the door and were out in the night air before she truly processed what had just happened.

                “Hey. Stay safe, okay?” Fahrenheit said softly to her before turning back to the door and leaving El alone once again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Bringmethemojave, who I hope sees this and who was right, I was discouraged. But I'm back, and even if it's only for a couple people I'll keep this tale rolling. Sorry for the absence, I hope I can make up for it.


	8. Nothing is as it Has Been

 

                “YOU DID WHAT?!” Hancock roared at the redhead as he made another slow rotation of the empty bedroom. Fahrenheit stood her ground, but didn’t meet his eye.

                “She left. I let her leave. She told me you-,” She began, but Hancock came up in front of her, grasping her by the metal plate of her armor and pulling her close.

                “I don’t give two shits what she told you, Fahr. _I_ told you not to let her leave. That should have been all that mattered.” He said, his voice a dangerously low growl in his throat. Fahrenheit tried to pull away, and he let her go with a small shove backwards.

                “Which way did she go?” He asked through gritted teeth. The woman stared at him before answering.

                “Hancock, she’s long gone by now. You should just-,”

                “Which. Fucking. Way.” He said, spinning on her once again. Fahrenheit set her jaw and swallowed.

                “She said she was going to Sanctuary. She left in the direction of the Old Corner Bookstore.”

                “I’m going after her.” He said, turning away from the woman.

                “Boss, you think that’s-,” She began, but he wasn’t listening. He was to his office in a few paces, digging through drawers, pulling out his old first aid kit, the bug out bag he kept under the desk for emergencies. He gathered all the things he might need before going to the safe under the couch in the corner. A few quick flicks of the wrist and he had his hands on his shotgun.

                “It’s been a while, huh girl?” He whispered, a tad self-consciously to the weapon, before holstering it on his belt and grabbing the pack.

                He didn’t say anything to Fahrenheit on the way out. He didn’t have to.

 

 

 

 

 

                It took him almost a day to find her.

                He approached the body slowly, not knowing how he should feel. The rational part of his brain kept telling him that he had barely known her. That this shouldn’t bother him as much as it did. But there was still a part of him, a big part, that wanted to scream, to beat the ground with his hands until they bled like the bodies of the Supermutants he had just put down.

                He knelt next to her, trying to gather the courage to pick her up. To take her back to Goodneighbor where she could be put to rest for sure this time. His mind drifted to Deacon, and how he would tell the spy about this. He shuddered, the thought of it too much to deal with right then.

 He reached out, his hand touching her cheek to wipe away some of the blood that caked the pale skin.

                She moaned.

                He jumped back, his heart in his throat at the sound. She wasn’t dead. Fuck, why hadn’t he checked first? Because she was covered in blood, her arm sticking out at a disturbing angle, that’s why. She looked dead. Even up close. But she wasn’t.

                “Hang on Sunshine.” He said gruffly, pulling the back down off his shoulder and rifling through it until he found the first aid kit. He pulled a stimpak out and uncorked the needle, unceremoniously jamming it into her thigh. The contents hissed into her, and he tossed the empty syringe away, vigorously rubbing the spot as he did. She made a soft sound of pain, and her face screwed up into a grimace.

                “Hang on. I’ve got ya’ now.” He said, and, heedless of her arm, scooped her up swiftly. He tried not to think about how little she weighed.

                He was only a mile or so from Goodneighbor. Searching the ruins was a tedious process, and he had lost time clearing out a raider crew from some apartments. The trip back took a significantly shorter amount of time, which was good. He didn’t know how long she had, even with the stimpak in her bloodstream.

 

 

                By the time he hit the Memory Den it was well past midnight. El was floating in an out of consciousness in his arms, making him very nervous. He could feel the tremors running through her body, though from pain or cold, he didn’t know.

                “Dr. Amari!” He called into the darkened building. The stage lights were dimmed, but he could still make out the path towards the back stairs, down to where the doctor made her practice. He could hear shuffling from below now, and called again.

                “Dr. Amari!” He yelled, and this time, a voice answered, tired and a little irritated.

                “What the hell, Hancock? It’s-,” She was saying as he almost careened into her. She backed up into the room as he passed, intent on the one at the end of the hall that held her equipment. She followed closely, her protests cut off as she saw what he carried.

                “She’s hurt bad, Doc.” Hancock said as he laid El out on the table, the light from the room coming up almost to blinding as Amari came around him to look.

                “Dammit Hancock, how many times do I have to tell you people, my specialty is the brain. I don’t deal with these sorts of injuries-,” She said, though her hands were working to remove El’s jacket even as she spoke.

                “I know, but you’re the best I got.” He said breathlessly, taking the jacket from the doctor and watching as she continued working.

                “What happened?” She asked, moving to unclasp the worn leather armor El wore across her chest. Hancock took that from the doctor as well.

                “Supermutants. Got ambushed I think.” He said, eyes still intent on Amari’s work. El was moaning slightly now, her eyes fluttering open and closing at random intervals. Amari was working on the buttons of her flannel, but after a moment gave up and slit the shirt up the middle with a sharp pair of scissors. She tossed the shirt to the floor and turned back, but froze.

                “Doc, what-,” Hancock began, peering over her shoulder. His words died in his throat as he saw what she had.

                El wore no undershirt, just a faded and stained bit of cloth to pass for some kind of bra. That wasn’t what caught their attention, however. El’s pale skin was marred with a horrifying array of scars. Mostly long lines that cut 4 to 6 inches across the expanse of her torso, though some were much smaller, and some he recognized as cigarette burns. The damage crisscrossed her body with an evil precision, turning what had once been smooth pale skin into a disfigured mockery of what it once was. There seemed to be no part of her aside from hands and face that didn't carry the puckered pink marks. Hancock struggled to pull his eyes away.

                “Oh my god.” Amari whispered under her breath. She was still for only a moment more before she began her ministrations, pumping chems into El and checking wounds. Hancock backed towards the door, still holding El’s things in his arms. He dropped them into a chair, standing there, still watching Amari work on the woman, his thoughts a jumble in his mind.

                How could he have been so blind? Missing for two months?  The drug addiction? The suicidal actions? The look she had when she had found him cock deep inside some woman at the Rail? It wasn’t a far stretch of the imagination to wonder what had happened. Grabbed by Raiders? Gunners maybe? The ruins were vast and full of danger; and some dangers were worse than outright death.

                After what seemed like forever, Amari stood. She covered El in a sheet, leaving her bandaged arm out for easy access. She turned to him, her face somber.

                “Those scars are fresh. I’d say less than-,”

                “Less than three months old?” He finished. Amari looked only slightly surprised before nodding. Hancock stared at the figure on the bed, his words a hard lump in his scarred throat.

                “Is she alright?” He finally asked, turning his attention back to Amari. The woman shrugged, her own gaze turning towards El.

                “I stabilized her as best as I could. She probably has a concussion, but I’m not sure how serious. I’ll have to check when she wakes up. Her arm is badly broken; the humerus is cracked, probably cleanly in half. The stimpaks will help, but I’ll have to set it and put it into a cast tomorrow.” Amari spoke quietly, as though she didn’t want to disturb El. Hancock nodded, first slowly, and then with more decision.

                “I’ll stay with her. I’ll wake you if she needs you.” He said, making for the bed once more. Amari made no objections to this, and with another wary glance at the bed, left him alone with her. He came to the bedside, dragging a metal chair with him and plopping down, unsure of what to do or say.

                “What the hell did they do to you, Sunshine?” He whispered to El, watching her strained expression relax into one of drugged stupor. Although the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he didn’t want to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna get pretty dark here for a bit. El's been through some shit.


	9. Some Dark Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a long one, and deals a little with what happened to El. Proceed with caution. Nothing too graphic, but still uncomfortable. Please know that this is a story about El dealing with her assault, kidnapping, and confinement by a group of Raiders. If that's not for you, I totally get it. Please don't read if it will make you uncomfortable!

 .....

                For the second time in as many weeks, El woke up with the knowledge that she _shouldn’t_ be waking up. She only had a moment to wonder vaguely about this before the pain in her arm hit her like a train. She let out an involuntary moan and moved to clutch at the offending appendage.

                “Don’t move Sunshine. Here, I got ya’.” Came Hancock’s voice out of the fog in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut against the light, as though it would also block the pain. She tried to breathe through it, but her breath came in wheezing gasps as she tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to overtake her.

                And then there was a pinch in her other arm, and the soft muted heat of Med-x flowed into her system. She felt it surge to her brain, dulling the scream of her arm to a soft ache.

                “More?” She whispered hoarsely, and heard Hancock chuckle to himself.

                “Just lay back and let that one do its job first, sister.” He said softly. She cursed him silently before taking a more thorough mental check of herself. Her arm was most certainly broken. That was the most obvious thing. Her head pounded and swam, probably a concussion. She found with a detached sort of humor that she remembered the Mutant that had brained her.  A hulking brute with a splintered piece of wood that made a dull echo run through her ears when it glanced off the side of her skull.

                “How do you feel?” Hancock asked, and she cracked an eye to look at him. He looked tired, his red jacket hanging on the back of the chair he sat in, and he was missing his hat. She swallowed, trying to think of something to say. She moved her good arm up towards her face and felt the sheets slide against her naked skin…

                “NO!” She screeched, sitting bolt upright in the bed and throwing herself back towards the wall, heedless of the pain in her head and arm. Hancock stood up, startled, the chair he sat in sliding across the floor as he moved towards her. She grasped at the sheets, pulling them up towards her chin, desperate to hide from him, desperate to disappear, to make this all be a dream.

                Hancock was saying something, trying to be soothing. But all that El could hear were the laughs and taunts and curses of too many Raiders. All she could feel were hands on her burning skin, crawling up her spine and over her breasts, unwelcome and unwanted. She was screaming, she could feel her lungs ache and her throat begin to go raw with the effort.

                And then Doctor Amari’s face filled her vision. The woman grasped at her arm, trying to calm her, but it was only when she felt the flood of the Med-X into her that she allowed herself to be laid back down. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was Hancock’s stark face, and the look of absolute shock etched into it.

 

 .....

 

                The last time Hancock had gone on a rampage this violent and bloody, Vic had lay dead and he had become Mayor of Goodneighbor. There was nothing to be gained from this episode, however, except the thought that all the Raiders he took out today wouldn’t be around to deal with anymore. He hardly noticed what he was doing though; the only thought in his mind was drowning out the sound of El’s screams that still echoed in his head.

                He sat down hard on the curb, mopping sweat and blood from his forehead with a fold of his flag. This had been a small crew, hiding out in the remains of an old café a little ways from Diamond City. They had gone down relatively easy, but now he was getting tired, not to mention low on ammo. He cast an eye up to the sky, where rain threatened to begin falling at any moment. It was definitely time to head back to Goodneighbor, although that seemed the last place he wanted to be right then.

                What was the next step here? A small part of him was saying to cut his losses, to let El go when she was recovered enough. He wasn’t sure he had the capability to help her, now that he knew (or at least, could guess) what had happened to her. And he damn sure knew she wouldn’t be too keen on talking to him, now that he had seen what she had tried to hide from him. But a bigger part of him was screaming, telling him not to let her go, telling him that the next time would be the last; he wouldn’t keep getting lucky and stumbling upon her minutes before she died.

                With a sigh, he got to his feet and began the slog back. At the very least, he could go back with the few chems and stimpaks he had managed to salvage from the Raiders. Amari could put them to good use, replace the stock she had used on El. Maybe he could talk to El, if she was awake, tell her that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he was there if she needed him…

                No. That wouldn’t do. He remembered the look on her face when she had interrupted him mid-coitus in the Rail. And the fear and mistrust on her face as she realized he had seen the scars on her body, realized he knew what had happened to her. If El wanted or needed to talk to him, she would find him. She didn’t need him making things worse for her.

                It was almost dark when he pushed open the old wooden door to the settlement, letting it fall with a slam behind him. He waved to KLEO, who whirred appreciatively at him. He would drop the chems off, then head to the Rail. A drink definitely wouldn’t go amiss right about now. And maybe MacCready was around; he was always good for a laugh.

                The Memory Den was quiet as he entered, only one occupant in a pod in the far corner. Even Irma, who usually manned the place with a classy air of haughtiness, was not to be found. Hancock shuffled for a moment, unsure whether to go downstairs to try to find Amari. He wasn’t sure if El was awake, and didn’t want another mishap like earlier.

                In the event, he set himself and went down the hall that lead to the stairs. He stepped quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence around him. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he stopped. He could hear voices speaking, coming from the doctor’s office. He debated turning back, but El’s voice caught his attention. He sidled forward a bit more, bringing the conversation into clarity.

                “You study the brain, right? You know how it works?” El asked, her voice a little hoarse. There was a beat as Amari came across the room; he could see her shadow moving on the floor.

                “Yes. Neuroscience is my specialty. It’s why I’ve come here, to the Den. It’s a unique place in the Wasteland.” The doctor answered.

                “So, you’ve figured out how to let people relive memories. That’s what the pods are, and that’s what you helped me to do with Nick?” El continued, her voice wavering slightly. Hancock wondered where this was going. He felt wrong, standing there listening. But it was too late to turn back now.

                “Yes. By tapping into the places in the brain where memories are stored, we are able to let people relieve them. Like watching a dream that you get to pick.” Amari spoke, and Hancock could hear the uncertainty in her voice. The doctor wanted to know where this was going too.

                “So…could you, delete memories? Make people…forget something?” El asked, almost too softly for Hancock to hear. His throat went tight at the thought. A memory wipe? That’s what she wanted? Could he blame her?

                “That is… a bit more complicated.” Amari said, the awkward note of understanding now lacing her tone.

                “In a synth mind, it is simple. The components are standardized, all one type of “brain” that can be manually rewired, if you understand how. But the human mind; that is a whole different animal. Human minds are like their users, different, varied in unexpected and uncharitable ways. Deleting a memory is almost impossible, and when it has been attempted, has not ended well.” Amari answered, simply, yet with a compassionate air.

                “Oh…” El’s small voice echoed through the room. Hancock closed his eyes, not sure what to do again. The conversation had died, and he could hear Amari shuffling around. He gritted his teeth and stepped forward, careful to make noise so they would hear him coming. Amari’s face appeared in the doorway before he entered, and he stopped.

                “Oh, Hancock.” She said, dropping her voice. He held out the small bundle of supplies to her, and dropped it in her hands as she held them out. He turned without speaking and made to leave, but El’s voice met his ears before he could.

                “Hancock?” El asked, and he turned back to Amari, searching her face for anything he could use, anything to let him know how to approach the situation. The doctor, ever the pragmatist, simply stepped around him, heading to her bedroom at the end of the hall.

                “Uh, yeah Sister?” He answered, still not coming into the room. He heard El take in a deep breath.

                “Y-you can come in.” She stated, although he felt it as more of a demand than anything. He set his shoulders and did so, coming in just so he could see her in the bed on the far side of the room. She was wearing a shirt again, her arm in a cast, slung tight against her body. Her dark hair hung loose over her shoulder, setting off the stark paleness of her face. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, and he had to cough slightly to clear it.

                “Don’t wanna scare you, Sunshine.” He said, and regretted it as her eyes squeezed shut.

                “Just El, please.” She said, opening her eyes again to look at him. She waved towards a chair that sat at the foot of the bed. He hesitated, but she gestured more forcefully, so he complied.

                “I want to leave when my arm heals. Alone.” She stated, matter-of-factly. He blinked at her, looking her over in the most unobtrusive way he could. There was color coming back to her cheeks, but the dark smudges under her eyes stood out, ominous.

                “El, I don’t think-,” He began, but she cut him off.

                “I don’t really care what you think, Hancock. This is the second time you’ve saved my life when I didn’t ask you to. There won’t be a third. I want to go. I want to be done. And I think it isn’t your decision to make. It’s mine. I’m sorry.” She said coolly, though her voice shook slightly. He swallowed, forcing down the lump that had settled beneath his Adams apple.

                “El, I want to help you, tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything, just-,” He started again, but trailed off at her look. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes (dark, mossy green if he had to say) bore into him.

                “Can you bring back my husband and son? Can you rewind time 211 years, stop the bombs from falling, stop me from going into that damn vault?” She said, her voice cracking, coming apart as she spoke. Hancock’s heart hammered in his ears. Husband? Son? What had happened to them?

                “Can you stop me from seeing what this fucking world has turned into? Can you rewind everything, stop this-,” She placed a hand to her chest, indicating the scars there. “-From happening?” She said, her voice only wavering a little on the last question. A tear escaped from the corner of one eye, tracking silently down her cheek. He itched to wipe it away, but stayed put, his own feelings gluing him to the spot.

                “Can you give me back everything this fucking Wasteland has taken from me, Hancock? Because if you can, tell me now and I’ll let you. I’ll give you anything if you could do that for me.” She said, regaining control over herself and dropping her voice into an angry growl now. He closed his eyes, opening them only to stare at his own hands. He could feel her eyes boring into him, and he hated it. He wanted her to look anywhere else. He felt ashamed; mortified that he had been putting his own feelings about losing her, a woman he knew almost nothing about, over her own. Over the pain she had been feeling for too long all by herself.

                “I didn’t think so.” She finally said, in a voice no more than a whisper. His stomach sat in knots, as his mind tried to work something, anything out of what she was saying. Any silver lining, anything that could make his argument for her life more agreeable. He looked back up at her, taking her in, knowing in his scarred, radiated heart that this woman deserved more. He knew he could give it to her. He _knew_ he could help her. He just had to get her to let him try.

                “I’ve seen a lot, living in this fucked up world as long as I have, El.” He finally said, unsure if what he was about to say would work or not, but putting all the charisma and confidence into it he had anyways.

                “What I haven’t seen, is someone who has touched so many lives, someone who has put others above themselves, for no other reason than they wanted to do good. I haven’t seen that until you, El. What you do for the Minutemen, for the Railroad, that’s-,”

                “That stuff doesn’t matter anymore, Hancock. There will be someone else, Preston and Deacon, they’re-,” She tried to cut him off, but he interrupted her.

                “They’re just people, El. Just like you are. But we, the Wasteland, need people like that. We need good people to counter the bad ones, to make sure that-,”

                “There’s always gonna be someone worse, Hancock. Always.” She said, with such an air of finality that his argument died on his lips. He swallowed hard, ready for one last ditch effort.

                “Give me a month then.” He said watching her as her eyes flicked to his. She raised a brow at him, giving her face more life than he had seen since she came through the door that first day.

                “Give me until your arm heals to show you. To prove to you that your life’s got value, that you should keep on going.”

                “You’re saying you want me to let you try to convince me to live.” She stated. He nodded.

                “Just until your arm heals. What, a month? Give me that, and I won’t bother you anymore.” He said, trying not to make it sound like he was begging. She thought for a long moment, her hands pleating and unpleating the sheet tangled around her legs.

                “And if at the end, I still…want to leave?” She said, the implication heavy in her words.

                “Then you can leave. Or hell, I’ll give you the chems myself.” He said, forcing the words to sound light. She stared at him, something like disbelief pulling at the corners of her eyes, narrowing them.

                “But the catch is, you have to try. You can’t mope around here for a month, ticking the days off. If I ask you to do something with me, you gotta at least try.” He posited. She watched him, brow furrowed in confusion and contemplation.

                “You’re bargaining for my life--for me. You’re saying that I have to give you a month to convince me to want to live… And if I refuse?” She asked, and he clung to the fact she hadn’t outright denied him, pushing forward.

                “Well, more of the same I guess.” He said, flashing a quick smile at her. He thought maybe, just maybe the corner of her mouth twitched upwards.

                “Fine. You get a month.” She said, her voice losing a small bit of its hollow echo.

                “That’s all I’ll need.” He said, with a whole lot more confidence than he felt.


	10. The Ghost Who Walks

                The next day, El was given permission by Dr. Amari to leave, with a strict regimen of Med-X to be given to her every day, only by the doctor herself. El sighed heavily at this, but agreed. She was still extremely sore; her head ached dully and her arm twinged at any wrong move she made. The stimpaks they had given her had worked their magic, starting the healing process, but from here on out, she was on her own.

                Hancock had left word with Amari to send El to him when she left the Memory Den. He had gone the night before, after somehow talking her into letting him try to convince her not to off herself. She had agreed, though even as she made her way out of the Den and into the drizzle outside, she couldn’t seem to pinpoint why she had said yes.

                _Because it’s a win-win._ She thought as she splashed through a puddle that had accumulated in the small courtyard under the balcony of the Statehouse. And it was a win-win. All she had to do was endure a month of the ghoul trying to convince her to stay alive, and then he would let her go. Besides, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice here; if she refused, she wouldn’t have any chance at all.

                Goodneighbor was quiet, the rain having driven people indoors. Even KLEO was back farther in her shop, tinkering with a weapon at the workbench that sat behind the counter. The only sounds were the soft patter of rain and the far off rumble of a storm that threatened to close in.

                The door to the Statehouse swung easily on the hinges, with only a small noise as it shut behind her. The old building instantly muted the sounds of the weather from outside, leaving only a muffled rhythm of the rain on the roof, and enveloping El in a warmth that seemed to permeate her whole being. It was a feeling she got whenever she entered a place she had been before the war; the Statehouse had been a museum. One she had visited more than once.

                The Med-X that the doctor had injected her with was strong, enough to quell the pain of a recently broken arm, as well as some of the more uncomfortable parts of the withdrawal symptoms. However, the drug did nothing for the thoughts that ran unbidden through her mind. She tried to focus them on what she was doing, but as she trekked farther into the building, her heart began to race as memories flooded her vision; she and Nate on a date here, in this building. The look on his face as he was shot through the chest. The face of her son, telling her he hated her.

                “You alright there sister?” Hancock’s voice called from down the hall, jolting El from her stupor. She jerked towards the sound, her heart slamming in her chest.

                “Y-yeah. Fine.” She answered, straightening up. Hancock surveyed her, an unbelieving look on his face. El swallowed. She wasn’t sure how to react to him, now that he had seen her scars, now that he knew some of what she was dealing with. A small part of her wanted to turn around, to head back to the Memory Den and wait out the days there, to give in and stay here, anything, as long as it didn’t involve speaking to Hancock in person. She quelled this notion and stepped towards him, her fists clenched at her sides.

                “Come on, let’s have a drink. You can tell me about yourself.” He said amiably before turning back into the room he had come out of. El followed, coming into a largish room with several couches and tables, these strewn with different bits and bobs. Hancock gestured at a couch beside the door and she sat, watching as he went to a cupboard across the room and pulled a couple glasses out. He checked the cleanliness in the dim light before pouring a stream of whiskey into each glass.

                “You called Deacon to ask him about me.” El said suddenly, almost surprising herself at the outburst. Hancock came around the table, handing her one of the glasses before retreating to another couch adjacent from hers. He sat, lifted his legs to rest on the table in front of him, and took a sip from his glass before responding.

                “Yeah. I did.” He said shortly. El sipped at her own glass, still eyeing him.

                “Why?” She asked curtly. Hancock pursed his lips at the question.

                “Savior of the Commonwealth rolls up on your doorstep high as a goddamn kite and tries to off herself, you’d have questions too, wouldn’t ya’?” He asked gruffly. El squirmed uncomfortably, lifting the glass to her lips again with her good arm.

                “Don’t call me that.” She said softly.

                “Why not? Everyone else does.”

                “Because I’m not a ‘Savior’. I did what I had to. That’s all. Deacon didn’t tell you much, did he?” She asked, trying to regain control of the conversation. Hancock shrugged.

                “He didn’t have much to tell. Apparently you ain’t much of a talker.” He said, eyeing her expectantly. She scoffed, hiding the noise in her glass.

                “Said you’d been missing a couple months though.” Hancock added, almost as an afterthought. El shot him a glance, before darting her eyes to the floor. She breathed deep, trying to drown out the memories that threatened to spill over with the taste of the whiskey. Hancock must have seen something change in her manner, because he cleared his throat.

                “What’s your favorite color?” He asked, as though the question was the most normal thing in the world to be asking at that moment. El blinked at him.

                “What?” She asked, trying to focus again.

                “Your favorite color. Y’know. A color you like.” He said slowly, almost mocking her. She furrowed her brow at him.

                “Um… Red.” She answered. Hancock nodded slowly.

                “Mine’s green.” He responded after a minute.

                “You don’t see much green now.” El said, her voice soft. Hancock nodded in agreement.

                “Not so much. But when you do… man does it ever stand out.” He said, with an odd look in her direction. El shifted awkwardly under the look, and he quickly turned his head to take another swig from his cup.

                “What about food? You got a favorite food?” He asked. El narrowed her eyes at him.

                “Are we playing 20 questions or do you have a point?” She asked, her voice sharp. Hancock let out a low laugh, almost a growl in his raspy tone.

                “I been thinkin’, after talking with Deacon. Tends to happen when you talk to that man, let me tell you-,” He said, interrupting himself with another drink. “- But I’ve been thinking that in the whole time since you crawled out of that vault, no one’s probably asked you a damn thing about yourself. At least not anything that really matters.” Now it was El’s turn to laugh.

                “You think my favorite color or food matters?” She asked, disbelieving.

                “Does to me.”

                “Does it really?”

                “Very much. I’d also like to know what kind of music you like. Are you any good at cards? Are you more of a cat or a dog person?” He continued, and El shifted her gaze from the floor to the mayor’s face.

                “Why me?” She asked, her voice solemn once more. Hancock let the smile fade until just one corner of his mouth was turned up. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling for a long time.

                “Don’t think I could tell you that, Sunshine. Not sure of that myself.” He said, in a voice almost a whisper. El sat for a moment, watching him, ignoring the dull twinge in her arm that came every now and then.

                “Cats. I like cats.”

 


	11. Fuck a Silver Lining

                Hancock lay in the bed, smoke from his lit cigarette drifting lazily around his head. Sunlight trickled in through the dirty windows, illuminating the tendrils that slowly faded from existence in the stagnant air. He took another drag, moving without thinking about the action. His mind was far away, replaying the conversation in his head from the night before.

                He and El had spoken long into the night. At first, it was inconsequential talk about likes and dislikes, safe topics that could be broached without a second thought. As the night grew longer, and they became more at ease with each other, El began to slowly open up. She told him about some of her adventures with the Railroad and the Minutemen. Some he already knew from basic Commonwealth gossip. Some was new; tales straight from the mouth of the woman who had been there to perform them.

                He found himself even more charmed by her. She spoke with an eloquence that belied her quiet demeanor. She painted pictures with her stories, making him feel like he had been there beside her as she felled a Deathclaw in the Glowing Sea, or hunted down a Courser on the docks of downtown Boston. He was riveted as she spoke, sometimes needing to remind himself to answer, as he was so caught up in the telling that he had almost missed a question or an opportunity to speak.

                He had been afraid-and still was- that with any wrong move, any wrong word he would send her running. He still wasn’t entirely sure what she had been through; he could guess, sure, but the fact of the matter was that El had been through some very nasty things in the past few months. So he had let her do most of the talking, only commenting on things he felt were safe to comment on, letting her guide the conversation to where she was comfortable.

                “How the hell did you get out of that one?” He had asked as she told him of the second time she had traveled into the Glowing Sea, to return to the scientist that hid there and uphold her end of a bargain they had struck. She had been leaving the cave he inhabited when two huge Radscorpions had come upon her, catching her unaware.

                “Power Armor. It was the only thing that kept me from taking a stinger to the chest.” She said, taking a sip of her third glass of whiskey. Her cheeks were rosy, but she still had a good hold of herself, her eyes still focused and her speech still steady.

                “You were in Power Armor?” He asked, disbelieving. She smiled crookedly at him.

                “How else do you think I was able to withstand that many rads? I’m not a ghoul like you are, y’know.” She said, eyeing him. He let it slide with only a shrug, urging her to continue her story.

                “The first one hit me and knocked me back. I lost my gun for a minute as I fell. It really wasn’t pretty.” She said sheepishly. Hancock bit back a chuckle.

                "What? I had never really been in a fight before the war. There was a learning curve.” She said, the slight grin fading from her face. Hancock cleared his throat. Pre-war was a topic to avoid.

                “So there’s two of them. You’re down with no gun. What happened?” He asked sincerely. El perked up, her thoughts drawn back to the story.

                “Well, dumb luck is what happened. A pack of mutated Stingwings came upon us at just the right second. I guess they didn’t see me as much of a threat, because they just started going after the Radscorpions.” She continued. Hancock sat forward on the couch, both to listen closer and to refill his glass from the bottle on the table.

                “So I grabbed up my gun and stood back and waited to see who the winner would be.” She said, as though that finished the story. Hancock shook his head.

                “Well don’t leave a guy hanging! Who was it?” He asked enthusiastically. El let out a giggle, a sound Hancock hadn’t heard from her. He didn’t know if it was from the booze or from the telling, but the sound was music to his ears.

                “A Radscorpion made it out. Barely. Took only a couple rounds to finish it off. Almost unfair. Almost.” She said, the smile still on her lips.

                “Damn, sister. You’re quite the lucky duck.” He said, speaking before he could think about what he said. The smile faded almost instantly from her face.

                “Not really.” She had said.

                Hancock replayed that exchange over and over, mostly focusing on the small giggle she had let out, trying to commit the sound to memory. It wasn’t just a happy thought that he was clinging to amidst the rest of the chaos that he was entrenched in; it was hope. Not just for him and his quest to help El see the merit in her life, but hope in El herself, that the darkness wouldn’t be forever; that the sun would rise again.

                Still, he tried not to be too optimistic. Hancock had seen many a junkie laughing in the Rail with him one night, only to be found the next morning dead of an overdose or hung from a pipe somewhere.

                That thought didn’t comfort him.


	12. If I Could Only Reach You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter I put up was a little short, so here is another! This one gets very intense towards the end, so be warned!

 

                He found El coming out of the Memory Den later that morning. Her arm was still slung in the cast, awkwardly large against her slight frame. She smiled at him, a charming smile that almost-but not quite-touched her eyes. He returned the smile, noting the strange way she had turned herself before he came up to him. He dismissed it as she walked up to him, a bright green glint in her eyes.

                “So what’s the plan for today? Wanna have me volunteer at a soup kitchen? Show me other people have it worse than I do?” She said, and he could hear the sarcasm heavy in her tone. He scoffed light heartedly at her.

                “Think you’re funny, do ya’?” He asked as he spun around to come into step beside her. She shrugged, following along beside him as he walked slowly through the square.

                “Nah, I have a warehouse up here I need to get some shit out of. Only I can’t remember where it is in the warehouse. Thought you might help me go through it.” He said, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She raised a brow.

                “So you’re not trying to convince me to live because you like me, but because you need free labor?” She asked, though her tone was light. He was taken aback a bit by her demeanor. Maybe their conversations the night before had triggered something in her, made her more willing to open up, to be comfortable around him.

                “Look around, sister. I got plenty of free labor if I need it. Trouble is I don’t trust most of these ruffians to find their own ass, let alone my own private shit.” He said, and to his delight, El laughed. It was high and clear, though shorter than he would have liked.

                “Fine, Hancock. I’ll help you find your shit. But you owe me a drink after.” She said with the smile still lingering on her face. Hancock nodded.

                “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

 

....

 

 

                El had just managed to slip the syringes out past Amari and into her pocket before she had seen Hancock coming up to her from the Statehouse. She had thought he would notice her trying to stuff the chems in her pants, but flashed a smile that seemed to distract him enough to put him off the trail.

                She had just managed to grab a few vials of Med-X, swiped from a table while the doctor had her back turned. She knew it wasn’t much, but just the thought of the relief she would soon be able to get from the constant ache and nausea was enough to put a spring in her step and even let her laugh at the mayor as he goaded her into helping him go through his warehouse.

                She had to admit, being around Hancock was pleasant. The night before, she had even found herself forgetting the pain and uncomfortableness of withdrawal as they spoke into the small hours. He had been right; it had been too long since anyone had actually asked about her and how she felt.

                So even as they began sifting through boxes and crates in a dusty darkened old apartment building down an alley in Goodneighbor, El found herself in a decent mood. She wasn’t able to do much with her arm being bound in the cast, but she could still sift through the various bits and bobs that he uncovered for her. They were searching for old manifests for Daisy, he said. She needed some records of something that had come through the town a few years prior. El bit back the response that Hancock’s mayoral filing system needed work.

                They spoke amiably about this and that as they searched, the hours passing easily between them. This time, Hancock spoke more about himself; his childhood, his brother (who she found out had been the mayor of Diamond City, replaced by a synth she and Piper had discovered), and more about how he became the mayor of Goodneighbor. El found herself genuinely interested in this man who had voluntarily become a ghoul.

                As the day began to ebb, however, El felt her good mood fading as the small dose of Med-X she had been allotted for the day began to wear off. The ache in her joints slowly grew to a constant burn, and the ball that seemed constantly set in the pit of her stomach did summersaults. She wiped her palms against her dark canvas pants for the dozenth time, trying to dry the clamminess that had settled there.

                “Ya’ alright there sister?” Hancock asked as she stood, trying to stretch away the ache. She swallowed hard, trying to drum up enough saliva to answer.

                “Uh, yeah. Is there a bathroom in here or do I have to go to the Statehouse for that?” She asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Hancock scratched his chin thoughtfully.

                “I think there’s a working one downstairs somewhere. Might be a couple boxes you gotta move around though.” He said, gesturing towards the stairwell. El nodded and moved towards the stairs trying for an air of only slight urgency. She found the bathroom with little trouble, and, having pushed a box out of the way, closed the door behind her. She fumbled quickly in the pocket of her pants, pulling the syringes out in a clumsy fist.

                Med-X wouldn’t have been her first choice, but few doctors in the Commonwealth kept Psycho on hand. Med-X had medicinal properties, whereas Psycho was more of a recreational drug. El didn’t have time to be picky now, however. She pulled the cap of the needle off between her teeth and put the syringe in the hand on her broken arm. It was awkward, but she was able to pull the arm around to line the needle up with one of the veins in her hand.

                Just as she was about to press the needle into her skin, the door opened with a crash. In one swift stride, Hancock was there, ripping the syringe out of her hand and grabbing her good hand, almost crushing it in his own.

                “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asked, his dark eyes boring into hers. She stared defiantly at him, fighting back tears of frustration at having been so close only to have relief taken away.

                “Just- Hancock I need it. Please.” She said, hating the way it sounded like begging, but not really caring at the moment. Hancock’s lips pressed together in disgust.

                “I asked you for a month. Just a month. And you couldn’t even give me two goddamn days.” He hissed, pulling her arm towards him before pushing her sleeve up with his free hand. Angry red marks and scars from hundreds of needles marred the white flesh. She looked away, screwing her eyes shut.

                “You’re so hooked you can’t even use your damn arms anymore.” He said, voice dark. El swallowed, avoiding looking at the appendage he held in front of her. He gripped the arm more tightly.

                “This is what you want?” He asked, all kindness gone from his voice now. El tried to pull her arm back, but he resisted. She felt the frustration inside her begin to turn to anger as she fought helplessly against his grip. A vibration of panic jolted through her at the thought of being restrained. She struggled to keep her head, letting the anger guide her in an attempt to stave off the memories.

                “No, it’s not what I want. But no one gives a shit what I want, Hancock. No one. Not you, not the Railroad. Not the fucking Raiders who thought it was funny to see how high they could get me before I wouldn’t feel their knives anymore.” She whispered, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion. Hancock’s grip stayed tight on her arm, but his demeanor changed instantly.

                “Is that what _you_ want Hancock? For me to tell you how they shot me up with Psycho every day they had me until I was so hooked I’d beg them for it? You want me to tell you how I let them do whatever they wanted in the end, as long as it meant I could get the drugs and forget it all? You want me to tell you-,” She went on, the pitch of her voice rising as all the rage and fear and utter despair threatened to spill over.

                Before she could continue, Hancock cut her off by yanking the arm he held, pulling her into his arms. He crushed her against him, his arms enveloping her, burying her face in the folds of his red jacket. For an instant, she felt panic as she was held against him, but in the next moment, she felt her own arms come up his back. Her good hand balled itself in the fabric of his jacket, and for a split second, she felt peaceful, before the weight of everything came crashing back down on her, causing sobs to wrack her body.

                “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I’m so fucking sorry.” Hancock was whispering into the top of her head. She felt her hand tighten its grip on Hancock’s back as she clung to him, desperate for an anchor.

                She cried for the first time since she had woken up in this godforsaken Wasteland.


	13. Maybe Together We Can Get Somewhere

 

                _“You’re a goddamn idiot, John Hancock.”_ He thought to himself for the dozenth time since leaving the warehouse. He had tried reasoning with himself, tried to convince himself that the guilt he felt was unwarranted, but then he would glance at El, and it would all seep back into the corners of his mind, creating a knot in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t ignore.

                And why should he ignore it? He deserved to feel this way, having not seen what she had been going through, being so blind to the signs that were lighting her up brighter than the neon signs that lit Goodneighbor. The shaking, the sweating, the constant hum of tension that wound through her. It should have been obvious, especially to him. He was a fucking addict himself, lived among them, hell even enabled them. He knew the look of someone in the throes of withdrawal better than he knew the look of his own face.

                And yet he had missed it in El. Once again he cursed himself, watching her hand twitch against her leg as they walked down the street, towards the Memory Den. He had been so caught up in the pretty face, so convinced that saving her from death a couple times and charming her into not wanting to actively kill herself would magically fix her.

                He was a fucking idiot.

                He thought back to the past few minutes, her hugging him so tight, and her sobs against his jacket. He hoped his meaningless platitudes were comforting. What else could he give her? When she had finally pulled away, he had looked at her, _truly_ looked at her and cursed himself at how obvious the signs had been. She was still bruised and tired from the Supermutant attack, and he tried to tell himself that was why he had missed it. But the dark circles under her eyes, the tremors, the waxy quality her skin had; that wasn’t from injury.

                He watched her covertly as he steered her towards the Den. He hadn’t told her where they were going, what his plans were. He had simply taken her hand and led her out of the warehouse. She was either too tired or didn’t care enough to protest. She moved as though she was stuck in fog, slowly and with an almost robotic quality. He should have known that the one dose of Addictol wouldn’t have been enough to completely rid her of the addiction she had. It ran deep, that he could tell. It would take a few doses of the stuff to have her right again, and even then she may have some difficulty for a while. The stuff wasn’t a miracle after all…

                “Why are we here?” She asked, her voice breaking through the thoughts that clouded his mind. They were standing on the steps outside the Den now, the red light reflecting off a few puddles that had yet to drain from the previous day’s rain. He looked up at the sign, then back to her.

                “We need to get that shit out of your system. For real this time. Shoulda’ had another dose of Addictol a while ago. I didn’t know how bad it-,” He started, but El took a step back from the door, her face falling.

                “No. I don’t want it.” She said, one thin hand going to her face. What little color she had seemed to drain from her cheeks. Hancock raised a brow at her.

                “I think you need it, sister. You’re shaking like a leaf and you can’t-,” He began again, but she took another step back and made to turn.

                “No. I’m alright. I’ll be fine Hancock really.” She said, and he grabbed her arm, trying to get her to face him again. That was a mistake. She jerked her arm out of his grasp and turned, eyes wide with fear. She was backing away towards the junk wall of the settlement, watching him. He could see her chest heaving in panic and he put up his hands, trying to placate her.

                “Hey now Sunshine I didn’t mean to scare ya’. Now how about you take a breath and tell me why you don’t want to get that shit out of your system. I can tell you now; you’ll feel a hell of a lot better when you ain’t shaking so bad you can’t see straight.” He said, not stepping towards her any more. She had stopped moving, and he could see her trying to get a grip on herself. She was breathing deeply, and her eyes were focused on a spot near his feet.

                “I’m sorry.” She squeaked after a minute, and he shook his head. He stayed still, letting her come to him as she would. She stepped towards him, coming within arm’s reach. It was a quiet day; the drag by the Memory Den was mostly empty, save for a guard over by the Rexford who was casually leaning against the wall, probably dozing.

                “Ain’t got nothing to apologize for, Sunshine.” He said, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

                “Sorry, El.” He corrected. She shook her head slightly and finally met his eye.

                “I don’t want the Addictol. I-I’m fine. Really.” She said again, trying and failing to put conviction into her voice. He raised a brow at her once more.

                “Look, I ain’t gonna make you take it, but I think it’s really for the-,”

                “I can’t. I can’t deal with-,” She started, before trailing off. Her eyes pleaded with him, almost begging him not to pry further. He rubbed a hand exasperatedly over his face and took a small step towards her, watching to make sure she wasn’t intimidated.

                “If you don’t take the Addictol, you’re doing it cold turkey. And I can tell you, it only gets worse. As that arm gets better and you ain’t getting even the small amount of Med-X you are now, you’re gonna spiral. It’s gonna be a hell of a lot worse than it was in there, and I won’t be letting you out of my sight to try to sneak any syringes either.” He said, trying to convey the seriousness of his statement without sounding harsh. El swallowed audibly. She looked heartbreakingly like a molerat caught in a trap. He sighed and shook his head.

                “I get it, I get the lure of the drug, and how it pulls at you, tells you how it will make you feel, make you forget. But it’s a lie, El. It’s only there to cover shit up, turn you into an empty shell of who you used to be-,” He started, his tone soft, but El looked up, defiant.

                “And who are you to be lecturing me about drug use, Hancock? Everyone knows you use more chems than any addict!” She said, voice sharp. He shook his head.

                “This ain’t about me. I’m a ghoul, it’s different for me than it is for-,” He began sheepishly, but El cut him off with a wave of her hand.

                “You don’t know what it’s like for me. Don’t even pretend like you do. I need this. Even this… half-addiction is better than nothing. I can’t- I can’t have nothing to distract me. I can’t be left alone with- with my thoughts.” She said, her voice falling to a whisper with her last words. He watched her; she looked so small standing there before him.

                “If I don’t have the drugs, then I need the withdrawal to distract me. If I don’t have that then… I- I don’t know what will happen.” She said, defeated. Hancock wanted desperately to reach out, to pull her into an embrace again, but he knew that wouldn’t work this time.

                “It won’t last, sister. The withdrawal will be over in a few weeks and-,”

                “I know! Dammit I know. But I- I’m not ready. I-I can’t-,”

                “You can. I’ll help you, El. I’ll be right beside you, the whole way. I can be your distraction, I can-,” He argued. She shook her head and stopped him.

                “But why? Why do you care? I’m just some girl. You can’t put everything on hold for me. You can’t stop running your town for some addict that showed up on your doorstep. You don’t owe me anything. Even Fahrenheit knows it. I’m not worth all this effort you’re trying to put into me.” She said, the air of finality in her voice like a snake up his spine.

                “Fuck, El. I can’t tell you why I care. I just do, alright? And Fuck Fahrenheit and fuck Goodneighbor. I’ve always done what I thought was right. And _this_ -,” He said, gesturing to her, “- is what I think is right. I know I can help you, El, you just gotta let me in.” He said, his voice pleading.  Her eyes bore into him for a long time. He could see her working it out through the fog in her mind. She raised a shaking hand to brush a strand of hair from her face and he longed to take it, to brush the hair back himself. He shook the thought from his mind.

                “I-I’m afraid.” She said, very softly. He could have sworn his heart broke at the tone in her voice. He swallowed hard.

                “I know.” He answered, unsure of what else to say.

                “If I do this. If I take the Addictol I’ll- I’ll want to die more. I know it.” She said, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that smote him to the core.

                “You promised me a month.” He retorted, feeling stupid at the words. He saw a slight tug at the corner of her mouth though, and reevaluated how stupid it was.

                “Okay.” She said, and marched up the steps to the Den.


	14. We'll Be Holding On Forever

 

                The nightmares were the worst part.

                They came unbidden and unpreventable, striking without warning in the dead of night. During the day, she could pretend, let Hancock keep her occupied; let her thoughts wander to the tasks at hand. But at night—that was when the worst of it came. She had known this would be the way of it. Taking the drugs away let her mind free, free to dredge up the worst of what had happened to her to be replayed over and over in her sleep.

                Tonight was no exception. She had awoken screaming and sweating to Hancock shaking her. She had puked, mostly bile and mucus trying desperately not to inhale it as she hyperventilated. The mayor held her arm, the unbroken one, letting her spit the remaining rankness from her mouth. She blinked, trying to rid herself of the images that flashed through her mind anytime she closed her eyes. The Raiders, laughing and taunting, looming over her. The feeling of being pinned beneath stinking, sweating bodies. The pain of the cuts that came whenever she cried out.

                “You wanna talk about it?” Hancock asked once her breathing was under control. She ignored him, as she always did. She knew he was trying to help; he had taken to sleeping in the room across the hall so as to be close when the nightmares struck. He never failed to wake her, let her scream and cry and puke and struggle until she calmed again. She usually didn’t fall back asleep.

                “It-it might help.” He said softly. This was a new addition to their nightly routine. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to block him out but only succeeding in bringing the dreams back into sharp relief behind her eyelids. She swallowed hard. If she was honest, she blamed him for this. Him and his damned Addictol.

                Eventually, as he always did, he stood, cleaning the puke off the floor with a dirty handkerchief pulled from the pocket of the worn pants he wore for sleep. Then without a word he turned and left, leaving the door slightly ajar. She sighed, curling herself up on the bed. Now came the next horrible part. The part where she lay in silence and relived the nightmare over and over as she tried in vain to reclaim sleep. She heard the padding of Hancock’s feet and the creak of the bed in the next room over. As the silence fell once again over the Statehouse, she felt the panic fall over her once again as well.

                Nothing she did over the past week had helped. Counting sheep, talking to herself, thinking of the day’s events, even trying to remember old holotapes did nothing. The darkness and the silence were oppressive, seeping into her thoughts and bringing the nightmares into reality, so her skin shivered with remembered touches. She tried to stifle the sob that wracked her frame suddenly. This had been happening as well; the sudden shift into uncontrollable crying.

                Hancock’s words drifted through her thoughts. _“It might help”_ he had said. Could he be right? No. How the hell could dredging all of it up, laying all that had happened out for someone else help at all? All it would do would make her remember. All it would do would make it real.

                _But it was real._ The small voice in her head whispered. She frowned to herself. Could he be right? Could sharing the events, even just the little bits truly help?

                “Anything is better than this.” She whispered to herself, and with a final nod, made to get up out of the bed.

 

 

.....

 

 

                He heard the creak of her bed from the other room and waited, listening for where she was going. He hoped it was the bathroom, and not out to try to score some chems. He really didn’t want to have to wrestle Med-X out of her hands again.

                He was startled when a soft knock came from the doorway to his room. He sat up straight and swung his legs over the edge of the small bed, moving quickly to open the door. El stood there, small and quiet in the worn cotton shirt and pants she wore to sleep.

                “I-I want to talk.” She said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. He stood back from the door, allowing her to come in. She entered, coming to stand in the center of the room. It was dark, but the dim lights from outside filtered in, allowing him to see the silhouette of her.

                “You can sit.” He said, gesturing to the bed, unsure if she saw it in the dark. She must have, because she moved quietly and sat on the end of the bed, the frame creaking beneath her weight. He stood, not sure of where to go now, not sure of what she would say.

                “Sit next to me. Please.” She said after what seemed like hours. He did so, moving slowly so as not to startle her. His heart was hammering in his chest. He hoped it wasn’t audible on the outside.

                “They took me in Concord.” She said suddenly after a time. He swallowed harshly.

                “El, you don’t-,”

                “You said talking would help. I’m talking.” She said sternly, and he shut up. He could feel her shaking next to him and wanted to reach out, to grasp her hand, but he refrained. She was in control here, not him.

                “I was so close. Less than an hour to Sanctuary. I should have known they’d be there. Once Preston and his people moved to Sanctuary, there was no reason for them not to be there.” She said, the words coming out quickly now that she had started.

                “I was going to kill myself once I got to Sanctuary, did you know that?” She asked suddenly, her face turning to his in the dark. He thought about replying, but she continued before he could.

                “I was going to shoot myself in the head. In my old house.” She said, and he felt the coldness return to the pit of his stomach.

                “I thought it was a miracle or something. Raiders got me, and I wouldn’t have to kill myself. They’d do it for me. Easy. I killed three or four of them. But there were too many. They took me down and tied me up. Told me they were taking me to their boss in the Ruins. I didn’t care. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I ended up as one of their gross decorations-you know the ones- and so I just let them take me.” She said, and he could see the neon light from outside reflect off a tear that ran down her cheek.

                “Didn’t kill me though. Their boss liked the idea of having the “Sole Survivor” as a trophy. It-it gave him some kind of power trip to… to control me.” She said, the conviction with which she had started her story wavering slightly. Hancock squirmed a bit, uneasy. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear everything.

                “First came the drugs. So much Psycho. I got really sick. They-they liked that. Kept doing it. Eventually I stopped fighting the high because it was an escape. But that’s when it got boring for them. They had to play other games then.” She said bitterly.

                “El, you can go slow.” Hancock said quietly, half hoping she would stop. He knew she needed to get it out, he could feel the tension unwinding in her already, but he wasn’t sure if he could keep the boiling rage that had begun to simmer in his chest quelled if she did.

                “I-I don’t think it takes much imagination to know what they did, Hancock. I don’t need to tell you that. But… I let them. I just let them do it. Fuck, I begged for it if it meant I got more drugs. I- I-,” She stammered, the emotion suddenly too much. She tried to take a breath and failed, stuttering to take another. He reached out, letting his hand gently touch her back, trying to give her support.

                The touch was electric. It was like fanning a spark that had been so close to igniting. He felt her in his fingers, in the palm of his scarred hand. The feeling surged through him, sharp and strong, something he couldn’t name even if you put a gun to his head.

                Could El have felt it too? She suddenly stiffened under the touch, and for a moment he thought he went too far, but then her breathing calmed, and without warning she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso with a crushing embrace that almost knocked the wind from him. He returned it, his hands grasping at her shirt, trying to pull her closer, pull her into him, into safety.

                She cried, sob after sob wracking her small frame. He kept her close, whispering into the crown of her head. It didn’t matter what he said, just that he was there. He ran his hands down the curve of her spine, trying to ignore how he could count every vertebra there.  He felt the scars as well, threads of harsh tissue underneath the thin fabric. There were too many.

                Eventually she stilled, her sobs fading to soft hiccups in the quiet of the night around them. Her good arm was wrapped around him, her fist balled in his shirt, her head buried in his chest. He could feel her, so warm and soft, so close. The feeling of the touch they shared still humming through him, more intense than anything he had ever felt before. He never wanted to let her go.

                “I’ve lost everything. There’s no point, Hancock.” She whispered into his shirt after what seemed like ages. He let his hand come up under her chin, tilting her head to bring her eyes to meet his. The soft light glinted off the green, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to press his lips to hers. He fought back the urge, instead clearing his throat.

                “I’m sorry, El. The Wasteland ain’t been too kind to you since you woke up, huh?” He asked softly, feeling foolish for saying the words. Her eyes narrowed slightly at him, and her mouth quirked up a bit.

                “Y’know… I don’t think anyone’s bothered to think about that since I came out of cryo. Everything has only been about what they can take from me, what I’m able to give them.” She said, her voice cracking slightly. He dropped his hand from her face, gathering her hands in his, still not wanting to break the connection between them. She didn’t move away, instead twining her fingers through his.

                “You don’t gotta keep that up anymore, Sunshine. You can do whatever you want, everyone else be damned.” He said, realizing too late he was basically giving her permission to do what he had so desperately been trying to prevent.  She either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

                “I-I don’t know what I wanna do.” She said, the note of desolation in her voice striking his very center. He drew himself up however, and cleared his throat.

                “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t wanna. Hell, take a vacation, sit around the stands in Diamond City and piss off the rich fuckers there, drink until you can’t stand up, sleep all day. Or, if you wanna kick around here some more, I’m sure we could find plenty of mischief to get into.” He said, striving for a casual air. He thought he heard a huff of breath from her. Could it have been the ghost of a laugh? He shifted, still holding her hands in his own.

                “But for now, you should try to sleep, Sunshine.” He said, with a certain reluctance. The thought of not having her near him, of not touching her after this-whatever it was- that he felt was not something he was looking forward to.

                “Oh. Well, I…,” She started, cutting herself off with a slight movement. She kept her hands in his, however.

                “I can walk ya’ back over if you think you’ll get lost in the dark?” He joked, half hoping to hear even the smallest hint of a laugh once more from her. She shook her head slowly, the dim light shimmering off her dark hair.

                “I, um, would it be okay if I… stayed here?” She asked, her voice so small in the quiet of the building. His heart skipped a beat, unsure if he heard her correctly.

                “I mean yeah Sunshine, if you’re sure. I can sleep on the floor and you can-,”

                “No.” She cut him off, her hands squeezing his with a strength that belied her appearance. He was quiet, letting her get herself together.

                “I just mean, if it’s alright with you, I would just like it if we could…keep touching.” She said, and he could hear the embarrassment in her tone and could almost imagine the flood of pink that must be shading her cheeks. He would swear she should be able to hear his heart, with how hard it slammed against his ribs in his chest.

                “Sure sister. Whatever you need. Just don’t wanna crowd you is all.” He said, his voice remarkably calm despite his hammering pulse.

                “Not crowded. I just wanna feel…safe.” She said. Hancock wanted very badly to pull her to him once more, to tell her she _was_ safe here, with him. That she didn’t have to worry about anything ever again as long as he was around. That there was someone else beside her, someone else to share the burden her thoughts left her with. But he didn’t. Instead, he shifted around her, pulling her down to lie on the bed before scooting himself over to lie down. He kept a few inches between them, keeping hold of her hand as he moved and pulled the worn linen sheet up around them.

                “This okay?” He asked as they settled. He was trying very hard to tune himself to her, to make himself feel every twitch and tense she made, to make very sure she was comfortable. He was so aware of her warmth, the softness of the palm of her hand in his roughened one.

                “Yes.” She said, barely a whisper. There was a moment before she moved again; slowly turning so she was face to face with him. Her moss-green eyes met his for a long time, and then without a sound she scooted the last few inches of space between them, burying her face in his chest. Gently he let one of his arms drape over her torso, testing. She melted into him, and he breathed the scent of her hair; slightly dusty but clean, with a light sweet scent he knew was from not eating right. He would have to fix that tomorrow.

                It was only a few moments before he heard the soft breaths of sleep coming from El. She didn’t wake the rest of the night.


	15. Between Two Lungs

 

                El woke to the sounds of the day echoing outside the Statehouse. She blinked blearily, recognizing that this had to have been the best night of sleep she had gotten in—actually, she couldn’t remember when.  She was warm and comfortable, and for the first time in a very long time, her thoughts weren’t glued on nightmares. Instead, she was focusing on the hand that was gently stroking her head, fingers running through the tangled strands of hair.

                She thought she should feel something, panic, distrust, even just the odd sense of unease she had harbored ever since the Raiders had taken her. But as she carefully took a mental check of herself, she found the only thing she felt with any force was safety. She avoided looking at Hancock for another moment, content to lie as they were, her head cradled against his chest as he sat up in the bed. She knew he probably knew she was awake, but he made no move to stop what he was doing.

                “Thank you.” She whispered after a while, shifting to sit up next to him. He hummed a dismissal of the thanks, his hand dropping to grasp hers once again. It was still there, the same thing she had felt the night before when he had touched her. The electricity, the spark, the…whatever it was. She couldn’t describe it without it sounding insane; it was something she had only read about in trashy Pre-War romance novels. But there it was, a feeling like a tight string being plucked in her chest.

                “You slept alright?” He asked cautiously, his black eyes meeting hers. She nodded, suddenly feeling very silly.

                “Yeah, it was good. I hope you got some sleep too, I hope I didn’t bother you.” She said. He smirked.

                “No bother at all. I wouldn’t have stayed if it was, sister.” He answered, his voice a tad gruff. It was quiet for a few moments, and then he spoke again.

                “Why don’t you get cleaned up, a bath will make you feel like a million caps after all this shit. Then we can meet back up and figure out what we are gonna do today.” He said, and she thought he sounded a bit reluctant at the words. She swallowed, pulling her hand from his and making to stand. He followed suit, and with the breaking of the contact between them, suddenly it was like two awkward teenagers, unsure of what to say next.

                “I-I’ll just-,” El began, and Hancock gestured with his thumb.

                “There’s a bath down the hall. We don’t got the hottest water around but it’s warm and not too irradiated.” He said, a smile playing on his face. She nodded, returning the smile before moving to go. She felt an odd sense of loss as she left the warmth of the room, feeling Hancock’s eyes on her as she turned the corner of the hall and found the bathroom. The tub was large and yellowed with age, but fairly clean. There was a bar of handmade soap sitting on the window sill that looked decent enough to use as well.

                Hancock had been telling the truth; the water barely got up to room temp, but it was a far cry better than anything she could have dreamed of in the past few months. She let the water fill the tub and, making sure the door was firmly locked, she slipped her worn clothes off. She screwed her eyes shut until she was submerged; only leaving her bandaged arm out of the water. She stared at the wall in front of her, trying to convince herself that it wasn’t because she didn’t want to look at her scarred and mangled flesh. She had bathed before, after arriving in Goodneighbor, but had still been so messed up on chems that she barely remembered it. 

                Her hair floated around her shoulders in soft tendrils. It had used to be thick and soft, her hair. The months of captivity and not being able to wash it had seen it start to fall out in clumps, not to mention the serious chem addiction. She pulled her fingers through it, relieved to see that it seemed to have stopped shedding. She lathered the soap up in her hands and went to work, running the rough bar over her skin, slowly taking an inventory of how she felt, while ignoring the welts of raised tissue that arched across her body.

                She wasn’t sure if it was the Addictol--she had been on a regimen of it for a few days now--but she felt lighter, as though clouds had cleared away and she could finally get a glimpse of a sun she hadn’t seen for a very long time. How long would it last? Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was temporary; as temporary as the sleeping arrangement from the night before.

Who was she kidding? Hancock was the Mayor of Goodneighbor, a debaucher and reveler of the highest order. She had heard about him long before meeting him, and had seen with her own eyes how he liked to live his life. She was a charity case, something interesting to pass the time, but when she was no longer interesting, he would move on. She knew how people like Hancock worked.

And yet, she thought back to the night before, the feeling she had when he touched her. Not anything like the Raiders, and in fact--if she had to admit it--not anything like Nate either. This had been something indescribable, something completely new, something safe.

                Had he felt it too? She doubted it. It was ridiculous to think it was anything at all aside from some random misfiring of damaged brain cells or something left over from her chem addiction. She was half-starved, just coming down off an almost two month long chem high, and hadn’t slept right in almost as long. No. Whatever it had been simply had to have been her imagination. Her brain rewiring itself to a touch that for once in too long had not meant to hurt her.

                She finished bathing, drying off with a threadbare towel that hung next to the tub. She tried not to think about the odd stains it held, instead, moving her thoughts to the day ahead. Hancock had been trying for the last week to keep her mind off of things, jumping from task to task, never giving them a moment to sit still so that she wouldn’t have any time to think, any time to get caught in her own head. For the most part it had been working; she had met almost everyone in Goodneighbor, had run their errands, had cleaned out a warehouse, had even helped KLEO take inventory in the back of Kill or Be Killed.

                Yet in the back of her mind, she knew it wouldn’t last. It was all distraction, and just as sure as the night came to suffocate her, the end of the month would come as well, and with it the end of her time with Hancock. She thought once more to how she felt, careful not to probe too deeply into the dark recesses. Did she still want to die? A part of her—larger than she would like to admit—said yes, she did. Her husband and son were gone, both murdered, one at the hands of a mercenary and one at her own hand. Everything she had known from before the war was gone, the life she had lived, the people she loved, all disintegrated in a single explosion. And all this was ignoring the fact that if she went on living she would still have to deal with what had happened to her.

                As she dressed she chanced a quick glance at her body. Her stomach dropped as she looked, _really looked_ at herself. She was thin, the bones of her pelvis sticking out skeleton like under her skin. The scars from the Raider’s knives were still the soft pink; not yet turning the silvery white that the stretchmarks over her stomach had faded to. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the bile that crept up the back of her throat as she saw just how disfigured her flesh was now. Sure, she had known it had been bad, but she had been so fucked up for most of the damage, and when she had been lucid, had not wanted to acknowledge anything had happened to her at all.

                With a quick jerk she pulled the long-sleeved flannel on, jerking it up over the cast as best she could. She still had more than two weeks with Hancock. She didn’t yet have to decide if she still wanted to die. So she wouldn’t. Instead, she would ignore it as best she could. She could deal with the consequences of that later.

                She found Hancock in what passed for his office, a fairly large room at the end of the hall. There was a desk and a couple couches, a few old filing cabinets. He was standing behind the desk, Fahrenheit in front of him, reading a crumpled sheet of paper. They both turned to her as she entered, Hancock dropping the paper to the desk, Fahrenheit trying to look anywhere but directly at her.

                “I’m afraid duty calls, Sunshine.” Hancock said, moving around the desk towards her. El tried to crane her neck to look towards the paper, but could see nothing at the distance she was at.

                “Everything okay?” She asked softly, a tad uncomfortable with Hancock’s pet name for her used in front of Fahrenheit.

                “Yeah, ain’t nothing you gotta worry about. But I gotta take care of it. Think you can find some trouble to get into until later today?” He asked, his hands burying themselves in his pockets, as though he was embarrassed. El’s heart began to race; she would be alone today?

                “Ah, y-yeah sure. Maybe I’ll go see Daisy.” She said, trying to sound nonchalant about it. She couldn’t expect him to drop everything for her for an entire month, could she? And he had already given so much to help her. She tried to stuff down the disappointment she felt.

                “It won’t be all day. I’ll meet you up on the roof of the warehouse you helped me go through around sunset. That work?” He asked, his voice sounding strong and clear, as though he was telling more than asking. She nodded.

                “I’ll see you then, Hancock.” She said, and her voice sounded small compared to the confidence in his. She cast a glance at Fahrenheit, who was affecting not to notice the scene in front of her.  She gave a small forced smile to Hancock, and turned to leave, trying to calm her racing heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you're all enjoying this so far! There's gonna be a good bit of action coming up in the next few chapters and I'm excited to get to it!


	16. To Build a Mountain

Hancock despised Logan Hall.

                Despite it all, he knew he would probably have to kill the man. He knew how he would do it too, quick and short, a shot through the head. Just like he deserved. Hancock had known he would probably be the one to kill him since the beginning, since they were kids. When he had shown up in Goodneighbor after 30 years, now calling himself the “ _Commander_ ” of a bunch of Gunners, Hancock had been set on edge. What had driven him over said edge, was the protection money he then tried to extort from the citizens of Goodneighbor, and when Hancock had put a stop to that, the slimy way he had threatened to take the town and turn it into a Gunner hideout. The only thing stopping him from doing that, he had said, was the fact that he might need Hancock and his services at a later date.

                Apparently, he had come to collect.

                Hancock swore under his breath for the umpteenth time that day and re-read the missive. Fahrenheit scoffed and he shot her a look.

                “You think the words there are gonna change just cause you want them to, Boss?” She asked, voice filled with unbridled attitude.

                “You should have killed the fucker when you had the chance.” She said, and he could hear in her voice that she thought this was his fault. Although, wasn’t it?

                “You and I know if I’d have done that his crew would have leveled this place. We didn’t have the man power back then to handle these fuckers.” He retorted, tossing the paper back onto the desk in front of him. He was trying to keep his mind off of El, trying to think through what he should do here, but he couldn’t deny he was distracted. The exact thing Fahrenheit had warned him about.

                “So what are we gonna do about it?” She asked, her cold eye falling on him. He shrugged uncomfortably.

                “Well we can’t exactly tell him no, can we?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Fahrenheit looked dumbstruck at him.

                “What do you mean we can’t tell him no? We can tell him to shove it so far up his ass he tastes his own fist. We can deal with the fallout later. There’s no way you can do what he’s asking, Hancock.” She said, and he thought the tone of her voice shifted with her last sentence. Almost pleading.

                “The fallout will be the town, Fahr. It will be the people who live here, the people who rely on this place as the one safe haven in this miserable world. I can’t just put that in jeopardy.” He said, his voice softening. Fahrenheit sighed deeply. She didn’t know his and Logan’s history. No one did, aside from his brother—and he had been replaced by a Synth and killed by El herself.

                “But it’s the Combat Zone, Hancock. You know as well as I do that place is crawling with Raiders. And not the easy kind either. The kind with shit to protect, vested interests in staying alive. It’s a death trap, that’s why we avoid it.” She said, as though he needed the explanation.

                “You don’t think I know that?” He asked sharply.

                “Plus, what are you gonna do, help Logan take it from the Raiders only to have him and his pack of idiots playing military move in? Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.” She said dismissively. Hancock thought for a long time.

                “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, right?” He asked, finding a cigarette and lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He almost sighed in pleasure at the release of the drug through his system.

                “They’re both still the devil in the end, Hancock.” Fahrenheit said. Hancock nodded slowly, coming to sit in one of the couches by the door. He watched as the smoke rose to the rafters of the ancient building, his mind racing. How many guards could he convince to come with him? He could probably get MacCready to come, he would be handy. But the place was literally a Raider cesspool. There would be twenty, maybe thirty raiders there, at least.

                “Find me some maps. I need to do some planning.” He said finally. He did not like the look Fahrenheit gave him.

 

.....

 

 

 

                Alone. El was alone again. For the first time since waking up after Hancock found her in the ruins. Sure, she had bathed alone, slept alone (barring the night before), but she hadn’t been alone in the day time, hadn’t been alone to choose what to do in a long time. She swallowed, feeling the tug and pull of her thoughts, trying to get her to fall down the rabbit hole, trying to get her to spiral. She fought against them, trying instead to focus on everything she saw, everything she heard and smelled. Trying to ground herself in reality, not memories.

                She would go see Daisy. The woman spoke enough to keep her mind off things. She could pass some time with her, and then see where the day went.

                _This is normal. You won’t always have someone next to you yapping your ear off as a distraction. You need to learn how to cope by yourself._ She thought. She stopped dead in the middle of the courtyard, struck with a sudden thought.

                Did she need to learn to cope? Really? If she wasn’t planning on living, if she was planning on dying or offing herself anyways, did it matter? In fact, couldn’t she sneak off now that she was unsupervised and accomplish it now?

                “No.” She said out loud, making a drifter sitting on a bench a few feet away start a bit. She turned away self-consciously.

                She had never wanted it to be violent, messy. Sure, drugs were a little extreme, but she had seen the bodies of hanged people, ones who shot themselves. She didn’t want anyone to have to see that from her.

                _Plus,_ she told herself as she started walking again, _you haven’t decided if you actually still want to do that or not._ The voice in her head seemed more confident than she felt. She felt her heart calm as she came to Daisy’s shop. The ghoul was leaning lazily on her counter, flipping through an old magazine that looked as though the pages had been turned thousands of times.

                “Hey Daisy.” She said, trying to sound as cheery as she could. The woman started slightly, but let a smile creep across her face as she saw who it was.

                “Well if it ain’t the jailbird. I see you slipped your tail.” She said, glancing behind El and seeing she was alone. El gave a short laugh.

                “Hancock had some mayoral stuff to do I guess. So I’m on my own for a bit.” She said, trying to sound casual. Daisy smiled wider.

                “Ain’t I flattered you decide to visit me first? Got any plans with your new found freedom?” The woman asked. El shrugged.

                “Not really. I don’t really know what to do, actually.” She said, hoping not to sound too pathetic. Daisy chuckled.

                “Afraid there ain’t much to do around here if you aren’t looking to get high or laid. Most folks come here for those things or the Memory Den; and something tells me you’re not looking to go sit in a lounger.” Daisy said coolly. El drew the corner of her mouth in.

                “Nah. Not really.” She said, voice dropping low.

                “Well, there is one thing you might be interested in.” Daisy said, leaning across the table to look at El closer. El raised a brow at her.

                “There’s this ghoul, over in the Rexford. Only other Pre-War I know. He’s kinda lonely, likes to chat. Might be you can go see him, reminisce a bit.” She said, watching for El’s reaction. She tried not to let the surprise show on her face. Daisy had been the only person she had met (aside from Codsworth) who had been around before the bombs. The thought that there might be another, someone with more memories of before, someone who understood—it made her throat tighten and her heart beat faster.

                “Do you know his name?” She asked, trying to sound calm. Daisy thought a moment and then shook her head.

                “No, don’t think he ever gave it. But he’s the only guy with a permanent room at the Rex. If you ask about him, Clair will know where to send you.” She said, referring to the hotel manager. El nodded, steeling herself.

                “I think I’ll go talk to him. Might pass some time.” She said, and with a nod, turned to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna ask you all to trust me on this whole Logan Hall thing. I know a lot of what is gonna happen will seem out of character for Hancock, but I hope it is gonna pay off in the end!


	17. I Can Count the Ways on My Two Hands We Could Be Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about my erratic updating schedule. I update whenever I have a spare minute between working and writing! I have quite a bit written ahead on this story, but I want to keep some back in case something comes up and I need a few buffer chapters. I hope everyone is still enjoying, this chapter and the next one will be kind of cute ones!

 

                The Hotel Rexford was in decent repair, for a building that was well on its way to 300 years old. El thought that probably owed to the steely grey manager Clair, who kept an ever watchful eye on the place, careful to only let in the people she deemed fit to stay there.

                With a few words to the woman, El was pointed up the stairs to a room on the left of the hall. Clair seemed surprised by her inquiries, but nevertheless had been rather forthcoming with the information. It seemed this ghoul really didn’t mind having visitors, no matter who they were.

                The landing was dark, with only a few dim bulbs spreading sparse light onto the carpet of the hall. She found the room easily enough, and, after wiping her sweaty palm on her jeans, knocked lightly on the door. It took a moment or two before she heard someone moving about inside, and then the door swung open, revealing a haggard looking ghoul in a fairly respectable suit and hat.

                “Y-you!” He exclaimed, and El barely had time to register the words before he had stepped close, too close, for her comfort. She took a step back, almost losing her balance. The ghoul grabbed her arm, righting her, but not letting go. El’s heart began to hammer in her chest and she started backpedaling, trying to think of something to say, but her mind was blanking.

                “You! It’s you! But how? After 200 years, how do you still look…like that?” He was saying, his grip like a vice on her arm. She blinked, staring and trying to put a name to the face but she couldn’t. For the life of her she couldn’t remember who this man was. He certainly knew her, however.

                “I can’t believe this. You look the same! Tell me how you did it? Was it the Vault?” He said, pulling her closer to him. El planted her feet in the worn carpet and wrenched her arm, but he held fast.

                “Please let me go. I-I don’t know who you are. I’m sorry, I must have got the wrong-,” She was saying. The ghoul stopped pulling on her, and reluctantly dropped her arm. She cradled it with the casted one, watching the man warily.

                “You don’t recognize me?” He said, but quickly shook his head at his statement.

                “Of course you wouldn’t. It’s been 200 years. I’m a ghoul now.” He said, almost to himself. El squinted in the dim light, but try as she might, she couldn’t find a spark of familiarity in this man’s face.

                “It’s me, your friendly neighborhood Vault-Tec representative.” He said, trying and failing to inject humor into his voice. Suddenly it all came flooding back to El. The morning the bombs fell. The knock at the door. This ghoul-though he was a man at the time- asking her to sign up her family for Vault 111. His face as they ran past him when the air raid sirens started.

                “Y-you…” She said, her mind overcome by only one thought. The thought that if he hadn’t come to her house 200 years before, that if he hadn’t been pushy, basically forcing her to give her information—then none of this would have happened.

                She was on him in a second, her good arm hurling punches at his head, his torso, anything she could reach. He cried out in alarm for a moment, and then to her surprise, he started throwing punches too. He was fighting dirty, hitting and tearing at her bad arm. She gritted her teeth through the pain and kept swinging; the only thought in her mind was the blame she placed on him.

                “Hey, Hey! That’s enough!” Clair’s strong voice came after what seemed like forever. El felt a hand grip her shoulder, pulling her off the ghoul who she had pinned beneath her.

                “Do I need to call Hancock or are you two gonna quit squalling like a couple riled up cats?” Clair asked after pulling the two apart. El put the back of her good hand to her mouth, feeling the blood that trickled from a split lip. The ghoul was staunching blood that flowed freely from his destroyed nose.

                “We’re fine. You don’t have to call him.” El whispered finally, never taking her eyes off the man. Clair watched the two for another moment before emitting a soft huff and turning to leave. They were quiet for a long time.

                “We should talk.” El said finally, voice hoarse from emotion. The man nodded slowly, and the two sat down in the room, the tension almost completely gone.

 

 

.....

 

 

 

                Hancock wasn’t sure how long to wait for El to show up before he went looking. He said sunset, was that too vague? Technically, she had until the sun was all the way down to show up, and it had just started to cast its dying rays over the buildings of the city. He didn’t want to seem too eager, but he was worried, nervous about having left her alone for the day.

                He had just decided that he would get up and go try to find her, when the rooftop door swung open and El’s head popped out. She glanced around before her gaze lighted on him, her face easing a bit at seeing him.

                “What the fuck happened to your face, Sunshine?” He said, going to meet her as he saw the gash that split her upper lip. He grasped her chin in his hand, turning to look before he could think about the movement. She allowed it, a small smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

                “I met Ted. The guy at the Rexford. Turns out I knew him from before the war. We had to… rehash some old shit.” She said cryptically. He raised a brow at her.

                “I’ll tell you later. Why did you wanna come up here?” She asked, and her tone was light enough that he decided he would let the incident go—for now.

                “Well, I had an idea for the day, but seeing as I got called away, I thought we could turn it into a nighttime activity.” He said, trying to make it sound as innocent as possible. He still got a sideways glance from El. He took her by her good arm, steering her around an old air vent to the place he had set up.

                “What’s this?” She asked, stopping short and turning to him. He glanced from her to the pile of old blankets and pillows on the roof, then the realization hit him.

                “Oh shit. No. It’s, I was thinking—I guess it’s kinda dumb but, y’see I thought—well, the sky is—and you are, and-,” He rambled. El swallowed, but her posture relaxed a bit.

                “You thought what?” She asked, interrupting his word-vomit. He stopped, regrouping.

                “It’s dumb. I thought maybe we could look at the stars a bit tonight. It’s supposed to be clear and, well…,” He trailed off. He could feel El’s eyes on him, waiting.

                “Well I thought the sky probably hasn’t changed much in 200 years. Might be good for you to look at something that’s the same. Y’know, as it was before.” He finished, feeling foolish. El was quiet, her gaze fixed on the makeshift pallet he had made. He was so dumb. Of course this was weird; of course she would think the worst.

                “It was stupid, we can just-,” He started, but she cut him off.

                “It sounds fun.” She said, raising her voice to be heard over him. His brow rose in surprise, but he let a smile come to his lips.

                “Alright then sister. We still got some time till the stars come out though. I made us something to eat in the meantime.” He said, with a covert glance at her thin frame. She let out a small laugh.

                “You cooked?” She asked, peering around as though to see his creation.

                “Well, not exactly.” He answered. He moved around the vent and pulled out the ratty backpack he had brought. He held it out to her, a bit sheepishly. She took it gently, her eyes staying glued to his for a moment before she tore them away to look inside the bag.

                “It’s all the pre-made shit Daisy had. I-I wanted tonight to be about… well about before. Maybe you might like to remember how it was, back then.” He said, watching as she pulled out a battered box of Dandy Boy Apples. The smile had faded slightly from her face, just the ghost of it lingering now.

                “I…I don’t know if I…” She started, but stopped abruptly, squaring her shoulders and giving a slight nod.

                “Yeah. Yeah alright. Let’s do this.” She said, before flashing him a brilliant smile, one he had never seen from her before. His heart gave a painful squeeze at the sight.

                “Alright then. Which do you wanna dig into first?”


	18. Been Talking About the Way Things Change

                Night took a while to fall, as the Wasteland Spring was in full effect. They ate in an amiable silence, each unsure of what to say to the other. El filled him in on her day’s events, and he was surprised to hear that she and the Vault representative had spoken for most of the day. He thought about chiding her for attacking the man, but it had seemed to do her some good, in a strange way, so he kept his mouth closed.

                She was the first to lay back, her head resting on a folded blanket he had found stuffed in a closet of the Statehouse. The sky was losing the dusty grey tinge to it, and stars were beginning to light the sky. Hancock sat near her, his legs pulled up, his arms wrapped about them. He was conscious of her body, the heat of her near him. He was also conscious of the burning desire to reach out, to touch her again, as they had the night before.

                “Was everything okay today?” She asked, bringing him out of his contemplations. He sniffed, unsure of how to broach the subject.

                “Yeah, just boring Mayor stuff is all.” He said, trying to dismiss it.

                “All day? It seemed serious when I saw you this morning.” She said, and he could hear the question she didn’t ask.

                “There are a lot of serious things I gotta deal with, Sunshine. This is just another drop in the bucket.” He replied. She watched the stars, not looking at him as she spoke, though he looked at her.

                “Can I help?” She asked, and he could hear the genuine note in it. She really was asking. For a moment, he thought about telling her, he thought about the two of them bursting into the Combat Zone, guns blazing, destroying everyone there and then telling Logan Hall to fuck off. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tell her because he knew she would push her own feelings aside to help him. It was who she was; she had told him so. She was a giver, and in this Wasteland, people like that didn’t last long.

                “No, El. I don’t think there’s much you can do. Don’t worry about it. It’s boring anyways.” He lied, trying to sound dismissive. He watched her covertly for a moment, wondering if she would push the issue, but she simply gave a small shrug, and went back to staring at the sky.

                “You should be more careful, getting into fights like that.” He said after a time, gesturing to her face. She shifted on her makeshift pillow, facing him with the trace of a smile on her lips.

                “Needed to be done.” She said simply.

                “Why?” Hancock asked, his tone light. It was casual conversation, that was all.

                “He’s the one who got my family and me the space in Vault 111.” She answered, her eyes shifting back to the sky.

                “Isn’t that a good thing?” He asked, before realizing what he was saying. Of course she wouldn’t view it as a good thing. In fact, it probably bordered on the worst thing to ever happen to her.

                “I wouldn’t say it’s been great. No.” She said. They were quiet for a moment before she spoke again.

                “So I blamed him for me surviving, for being here. And he-, well he was mad that I got to pass 200 years without actually having to live through them. That I still look the same, that to me, the year 2077 seems like it was only a little over a year ago. Not two hundred and something years ago.” She said, voice soft as she explained. Hancock nodded.

                “So you’re square now?” He asked. She let out the huff of a laugh.

                “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She said. Hancock moved to lay down, careful to leave some room between them. Night had fallen, and the streets below were dim enough so that the sky stretched out before them, inky black with stars cascading through it. Hancock liked to think of himself as a romantic, but even he had to appreciate the beauty of the sight.

                “You never saw this many stars before the war.” El whispered, as though she didn’t want to break the relative silence that wove around them. Hancock was quiet, letting her choose to continue or not.

                “It was too bright. There were always too many lights from Boston. You could only ever see the brightest ones. Nothing like this.” She said, and her hand went up as though trying to touch the stars in question. She dropped it again and it rested near his. So close he could feel the warmth from it. He desperately wanted to reach out and take it. But this night wasn’t about him.

                “They don’t know anything is different here.” She said, with an odd smile on her face.

                “Who?” He asked, not following.

                “Out there. Nothing’s changed out there for us, right? The stars are still there, and they’ll always be there, 200 years in the past or the future. The stars don’t care that I exist, that I was frozen, that I…shouldn’t be here.” She said, the last part of her sentence barely a whisper.

                “The universe will continue no matter what we do.” She said, with a tone in her voice that Hancock couldn’t quite place. He thought for a moment, the weight of her words bearing down on him. On one hand, she was right. But that didn’t make what she was saying any better for her.

                “Yeah, so that means we gotta make the most of what we do while we’re here. Cause if we’re gone and the universe just keeps spinning, then all we got is now, right?” He asked, voice pitched low.

                Very suddenly, El’s hand was in his. The shock of it was almost enough for him to draw his hand away, but he didn’t. The touch sent the same reverberations through him that it had the night before. His marred skin prickled with the ghost of goosebumps he could no longer get. His heart raced, all of his nerves focused on the fingers and palm of his hand, where hers sat delicately interwoven. With the touch, it was like the wall between them was demolished, as though he could feel her thoughts, knew how she would react. It was the touch that gave him the courage to ask his next question.

                “Do you miss it very much?” He tried to be delicate about it, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know if she could ever be happy here, in this time.

                “I-I don’t know.” She said, shifting slightly so that a nervous tremor ran through him at the thought she might draw away. She didn’t however.

                “It wasn’t a good place. Not a good time. Everyone here, in the future, they think it was all sunshine and green grass, and I guess from their perspective it was. Anything’s better than Supermutants and radiation, right?” She said, laughing humorlessly. He let her go on.

                “But… there was war. So much war. It went on for years, longer than I care to remember. I was lucky. I married Nate, and he was in the military, so we had a car, enough food to warrant having a child. But that was excess. Most people, they didn’t know where their next meal was coming from. There were riots over the rationing. Every day there was a news story about some new terrible thing the government was doing to “Help the War Effort”.” She said, her hand tightening its grip on his in the telling.

                “They started patrolling the streets, setting up checkpoints. Neighbors sold each other out, lying about people they had known for years being “Secret Communists”. People were taken away in the night, dragged out into the streets.” She said, and her voice shook only a little. He tried to imagine it, tried to reconcile it with the idyllic visions of the past he and everyone he had ever met had carefully constructed.

                “And then Vault-Tec announced the Vaults.” She said. He could tell by her voice she hated the words, but before he could tell her to stop, she went on.

                “That’s when we knew it was over. No company would spend that much money, that much time on something that wasn’t an inevitability. The fact that they even existed in the first place was enough of a warning of what was to come. But there was nothing we could do. Nothing except wait to see what happened.” She finished, her voice soft. Hancock felt vaguely guilty about having brought it up, but her hand still sat in his, and the tension that constantly ran through her somehow seemed to ease in the telling.

                “I guess I miss specific things. I miss driving a car. I miss being able to call someone on a phone if you wanted to talk to them. I miss the smell of real, clean laundry.” She said, letting a laugh creep into her last sentence.

                “I think I miss trees most of all, though. Real, live, green trees.” And she spoke so wistfully that Hancock could almost imagine that he missed them too, even though he had never seen one himself, outside of pictures and holotapes.

                “But that’s gone now. No point in missing things you won’t see again.” She said, and she shifted her body so their shoulders touched now. He should sit up, move away. It was too close. But instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, letting her choose the pace.

                “I think it’s good to remember sometimes.” He said, trying not to sound cliché. She shrugged; he felt the movement of her shoulder on his, heard the rasp of cloth as their shirts moved against each other. The spring air had only the barest of chills to it. Still, a shiver ran through him.

                “Maybe it is. Maybe I’m the only person left who really remembers what it was like. So maybe I should remember. But, sometimes it’s…hard.” She said.

                He knew without asking what she meant.

 


	19. Can't Call You a Stranger, But I Can't Call You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you guys so much for all the comments you've been leaving. They seriously make my whole day, and give me a huge push to continue writing when I'm having a slump or i'm battling writers block. You're the best readers and I can't thank you enough for reading this!

                As the days passed, El found herself quietly hoping the month wouldn’t end. She tried to ignore what this meant, tried not to think about the bubble that was building around her, and the pop that was certainly on its way. Instead, she tried to focus on the good moments, trying to build a new repertoire of memories to draw from when the darkness tried to creep in.

                She found that most of these memories came at night, much to her surprise. Hancock had continued to sleep next to her, after her insistence that it would help her sleep better. She found a comfort in his presence that she hadn’t felt since waking up here. He was company, a constant reminder that she wasn’t alone, even when her mind tried to convince her she was. They often spoke long into the night, mostly with her marveling at the fact he was still alive. He had done so much to get where he was, been through so much, and she loved hearing him talk about it.

                She found that she could almost forget all the shit she had been through, as long as they touched. She still couldn’t explain it, still couldn’t figure out what it was, but when she held his hand, or leaned against him, it was as if all the shit in her mind finally quieted. She tried to keep it casual, only allowing the touches when the moment seemed to allow it, or when he got close, though she wanted desperately to reach out, to feel him there with her whenever they were together. She knew it was foolish, knew that even if he didn’t mind right now, it couldn’t last.

                Hancock was genuine, caring. He asked how she was feeling, what was on her mind whenever she got quiet, whenever she looked distracted. But even with this attentiveness, El knew it was all temporary. Hancock was not a man to be tied down to one person, and especially not someone with as much baggage as she had. Hell, she remembered the night she walked in on him in the Third Rail, and she couldn't help but wonder if she might ever feel the desire to do _that_ again.

                El knew that eventually it would end. Even if he did have feelings for her-- and that was a big if-- she couldn’t give him what he wanted. And she wasn’t entirely convinced that Hancock didn’t view her as damaged goods; as something as fragile and weak as a child, or a beaten dog. She tried not to think about that when they were together, trying to focus on the feeling of the now. He was here, he was talking to her, and he cared. But she couldn’t ignore the tiny spark that had begun to take up residence in her chest. The one that bloomed whenever she saw him, the one that threatened every day to catch fire.

                Every morning, before he woke, his arm draped over her protectively, she would probe deeper into her mind. As deep as she dared go. But each day, she found she could go a little farther. She was trying, desperately trying, to find an answer. When the end of the month came, what would be her answer? She would try and think about what she would do, where she would go. Sanctuary was the most likely place, the people there wouldn’t object to her returning. But could she ever feel at home there again? Would Preston forgive her for disappearing, though the blame lay somewhere else?

                All the time she would do this, forcing herself to think rationally, she would come to the same question: If she did want to stay alive, was it for her own sake, or for the sake of the ghoul that lay next to her?

                She still hadn’t thought of an answer.

 

 

.....

 

 

                Hancock woke with a start, the dream still so fresh in his mind it made his palms sweat. It was dark outside, though dawn was not far away; he could see the dusty grey beginning to creep across the sky through the dirty window. El was still beside him. Good, he didn’t need her awake right now. Not when he could still feel the dream so hot on his skin, imagine that he could still taste her.

                He cursed, adjusting himself carefully so as not to wake her. How could he be dreaming about her, about _that_? After everything she had been through, everything she had told him? He surreptitiously wiped a palm against his leg, trying to remove the imagined feel of her breast from his hand. He cursed again. He knew why he was dreaming like this. Because he ached for her, pressed against him each night as they slept, the soft sounds of her breathing so intense in his ear. And to touch her…

                Every touch was like a firework, a cacophony of senses to his deadened nerves. He shivered, even as he lay next to her now, and screwed his eyes shut. He swallowed against the tide of guilt that washed over him. He was there to protect her, to make her feel safe. No doubt if she woke up and had felt _that_ particular part of his anatomy at the present moment, she would have bolted faster than he could have an explanation off his lips.

                Reluctantly, he disentangled her arms from him, pulling away gently, trying not to wake her. This would have to stop. She was sleeping well now, the drugs completely out of her system with the help of Dr. Amari. She could try sleeping alone again. She would have to, if she chose at the end of the month to live, and dammit if he didn’t hope she did. But he also knew that she would need to build her own life, that he couldn’t be there all the time. She was beautiful, charming, smart. There was no way she’d go for a ruined shell of a drug addict like him.

                She stirred as he stood, disrupted by the lack of his warmth. He swallowed, trying to get his heart to stop hammering, trying to stop the images his dream had forced into his mind to stop popping into his vision.

                “H-Hancock? Are you okay?” She asked, voice cracked with sleep. He sighed  softly, kneeling by the bed.

                “Yeah Sunshine. Gonna get an early start today. Go back to sleep, alright?” He said calmly. She made a face at him, but nodded, her moss green eyes watching him intently before closing once more. He turned and padded silently out the door, pulling it shut with a soft “ _click_ ” and then turned down the hall towards his office.

                It was simple closeness, that was all it was. Not exactly Stockholm Syndrome, by no means, but something similar. She had taken to him because he was there for her, treated her well. After being misused so badly for so long, it made sense that she would be drawn to the first person who showed her kindness, caring. Once she realized she could stand on her own again, she would be gone. She was too much of a force to be tied to someone like him.

                He sighed and resigned himself to it. A little more than a week left. It was time for her to start thinking harder, to not be so distracted by him. She had a choice to make. He hoped against all things that he had helped her make that choice, and that it would be the choice to live. But this—this safe world that they had built with each other; that couldn’t last. That wasn’t the real world. And El needed to be able to survive out there, as she had before they had met. That didn’t make the decision any easier.

 

 

                They were both distracted during the day, making it pass achingly slow. He dreaded it, telling her she would be sleeping alone that night. He dreaded watching her face as he told her. He dreaded seeing her shoulders slump and the disappointment fill her eyes. More than anything, he dreaded passing his own night, alone again. But it had to be done. He couldn’t bear it if she woke up to him hard against her, or heard him call her name in his sleep. He couldn’t stand it if she looked at him as the same type of monster who had tortured her before. This was the only way.

                Even though he wanted to be anywhere else, to be doing anything else, he stood tall, walking with her towards the hall where they slept. He stopped at the door to the room she had first taken, before they had started sleeping together. She kept going for a pace or two, before she realized he wasn't still with her. She turned, her face falling as she saw where he had stopped.

                “I-I think it’s better if you sleep in here tonight, El.” He said, narrowly stopping himself from using his pet name for her. He saw her jaw tighten, and she swallowed. He knew it would be hard at first. But this was for the best.

                “O-oh. Okay. Yeah. I get it.” She said, her voice trembling only slightly. He affected to ignore it, though the sound tore at his heart. He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, awkward under her gaze.

                “I just think, y’know, you’ve been sleeping better and-,” He started, but El turned, grasping the handle of the door before he finished.

                “No, I understand. It’s fine. Really. Goodnight Hancock.” She said, and flashed him a brief nervous smile before shutting the door.

                Sometimes the right thing to do sucked the worst.

 


	20. Seasons Don't Fear the Reaper

                El fought back tears that threatened to spill over. She would not cry about this. Why should she? She knew it was coming, knew it couldn’t be forever. She knew it was temporary, that he had only stayed because she asked him to, and that eventually it would stop. She had hoped it wouldn’t stop so soon, though.

                But there was only a little more than a week left. That was all until she had to decide. And what would happen then? If she told him she wanted to live, would he congratulate her? Tell her he was happy but she needed to leave now? Or worse, would he treat her like any other drifter? Would he ignore her, or see her in passing, go back to how he had been the first time she had come through here, when she had been searching for Shaun?

                The tears came then, hard and hot. She didn’t know which was worse; for him to ignore her, tell her to leave, or for him to treat her like everyone else. She flung herself onto the bed, burying her face deep in the rough pillow. What had she expected? She knew this couldn’t last forever. What had she built up in her mind? That they would continue on as they had? Play house as a couple in Goodneighbor, when she couldn’t even stand to look at her own body, let alone even think about his?

                She tried to keep quiet, determined for no one in the Statehouse to hear her. This was her own problem now. No one else could solve this for her. Least of all Hancock.

 

 

 

               

                Eventually she had fallen into a fitful sleep, full of images of almost-nightmares that brought her to the surface of wakefulness, but never truly woke her. She woke with her skin buzzing and her eyes hot. Light filtered in from outside, brighter than usual. She slept too late. The house around her was quiet, no sounds of boots or shuffling papers. Not even the muffled sounds of voices.

                She sat up, reluctantly resigned to start the day. She brushed her fingers through her hair, pulling the thin strands into a messy bun on the back of her head. She changed her shirt, a button up flannel without too many holes. She had fallen asleep in her clothes, but decided she didn’t feel up to showering or anything. Instead, she slipped quietly down the hall to splash cold water on her face.

                When she came out of the bathroom, she listened again. Still quiet. No one was in the Statehouse this morning, which struck her as odd. Usually at least Fahrenheit posted up here, shooting the shit with tenants and guards, and generally keeping the rabble out. But today, the only sounds she could hear were the occasional shouts and sounds from outside. So that was where she headed.

                The courtyard was milling with people, it appeared a trade caravan had come in in the night, and the mercenaries sat about while the traders stood together in tight groups. There were others besides the caravaners in the courtyard, though. Daisy stood outside her shop, talking intently with one of the guards. El was surprised that even KLEO was out from behind her counter, standing stoically to observe the crowd. Hancock was nowhere to be seen.

                El approached Daisy warily, wondering vaguely what was going on. She was grateful for the distraction, and also that Hancock wasn’t immediately visible. As she came closer, she saw into Daisy’s shop, and her heart skipped a beat.

                A man’s body lie limp and bloody on the counter, his hand dangling at his side. He was a drifter, one El recognized. She didn’t know his name, but had seen him in and out several times as she stayed here. Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth, and she stood for a moment, before a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to reality.

                “You should go back inside, sweetheart.” Daisy’s voice came from in front of her. She readjusted her vision to focus on the woman.

                “What happened?” She asked, and was surprised her voice came out strong and clear, no tremor.

                “Don’t worry about it. Ain’t nothing that concerns you. Go back into the Statehouse for a bit til we get this mess cleaned up.” Daisy said, letting her arm go. El shook her head.

                “No, I’m okay. Tell me what happened? Where’s Hancock?” El asked, craning her neck to see into the shop again. Still no sign of the mayor.

                “There’s just been a little bit of trouble. He’s gone to deal with it. He’ll be…back.” Daisy said, and the hesitation in her voice put El immediately on edge. She narrowed her eyes at Daisy, feeling her heart hammer in her chest.

                “Where did he go? How long ago?” El asked, and felt something she hadn’t felt in months. A strength she had thought was long gone. The drive she thought had been tortured out of her. She held onto it with a ferocity that must have shown in her eyes, because Daisy took a small step back.

                “I-I don’t know if I-,” Daisy said, her eyes searching the crowd as though hoping Hancock would materialize to solve this. He didn’t, however, and El advanced on the woman.

                “Where, Daisy?” She asked again, forcefully. Daisy shook her head slowly before gesturing for El to follow her. Daisy led her to the back of her shop, past the body, which El tried and failed to ignore. Once there, Daisy pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of her pocket and thrust it at El, as though the page burned her. El unfolded the sheet, eyes still watching Daisy as she did. She tore them away to read what was written.

                _Think you can ignore me? I want the Combat Zone cleared by the end of this week, or more of your friends are gonna end up like this. Get it?_

_LH_

El felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. The Combat Zone? Had he gone there? She swallowed the bile that crept up her throat, threatening to choke her. She could panic later. She had to deal with this now.

                “He went here?” She asked Daisy, gesturing to the note. The ghoul nodded solemnly. El dropped the paper by her foot, her mind racing.

                “He told me he’d be back. Then when he wasn’t, Fahrenheit went after him. Then she didn’t come back either and I…,” She trailed off, the implication heavy in her voice.

                “When?” El asked sharply. Daisy glanced outside.

                “We found Denny around dawn. Hancock left right after that. Fahrenheit about two hours later.” She answered. El screwed her eyes shut.

                “The Combat Zone is crawling with Raiders. A lot of them. It’s dangerous, and he went alone? You let him go alone?” She said, her voice harsh. She shouldn’t blame Daisy. It wasn’t her fault.

                “How do you know-,” She started, but El was already turning, her body making decisions before her mind caught up. Daisy started after her, but she ignored the woman, making straight for the Memory Den. All the while she calculated. If Hancock had left at dawn, and it was probably close to noon now (Dammit she missed her Pip-Boy), then he had a lead on her by close to six hours. Maybe more. If he wasn’t dead already-,

                No. She couldn’t think like that. Hancock was smart, capable. The Combat Zone might be crawling with Raiders, but he had to know that. Right?

                Not the way that she knew it. Odds were Hancock had never been inside the place, never seen what happened there. And she had been held there the last two weeks of her captivity. The Raiders had taken her there, the leader keeping her close. She had been fucked up on too much Psycho at the time, but she still remembered.

                She reached the Memory Den and tore the door open, her pace quickening as she hurried past the loungers and down into the depths of the place. She hadn’t seen Amari among the faces in the crowd outside, so she had to be here. The woman was a workhorse, barely ever leaving her lab, insisting her work was more important than almost everything else.

                “Dr. Amari?” El called into the dim hall, not stopping to wait for a reply. She barreled into the lab just as the doctor was turning the corner to look down the hall. They almost collided, with Amari grabbing at El’s arms to slow her down.

                “Woah, woah, El. What’s the matter?” Amari asked, dropping her hands as she realized El wasn’t going to knock her down. El thrust out her casted arm.

                “Take it off.” She demanded, knowing it would probably take more than that. Amari looked confused, her brow knitting as she glanced from the arm to El’s face.

                “What? I don’t-,”

                “I need this off. Now. I have to go and I need my arm to work again.” El said, speaking quickly and trying to insert as much authority into her voice as she could. Amari shook her head.

                “It’s too early; I don’t think it’s a good idea. Your injury could still be too unstable to handle-,” Amari started, and El cut her off impatiently again.

                “Look, a week isn’t gonna matter. I need this off. I’ll take another stimpak if that will help, hell I’ll even come back and let you put another cast on it if you need to. I just need my arm back for a day. Please.” She said, and her voice cracked on the last word. Amari stared at her, and El scoffed, thrusting her arm at her again.

                “Please Dr. Amari. Hancock’s done something stupid and I need to-,” She started, and Amari turned, going to the table in the corner of the room and rifling through a drawer beneath it. She came back with a small contraption, it looked like some kind of drill, but the end was a small saw blade.

                “I heard. When you find him, you come back here. To me.” Amari said, her eyes intent on El’s.

                “Yeah, of course. Sure.” El said, holding her casted arm out. Amari nodded and held the small device up, flipping a switch. There was a loud whirring sound, and the blade at the end began spinning.

                “Hold still.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some action! Don't worry, I'll update fairly quickly with these next few chapters so I don't leave you on too many cliffhangers! I do hope you're all still enjoying!


	21. Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying

                Hancock woke in a dimly lit room. It stank of sweat and blood and body odor. He wanted to roll over and puke, but his head chose that minute to start pounding, so he opted to stay still. He cursed silently, berating himself for the situation. He was a fucking idiot; in more ways than one.

                For the first, he knew he should never make decisions when upset. He was not good at making those types of decisions, and they usually ended badly. He had been upset when they found Denny outside the walls of Goodneighbor that morning, his body blasted through the chest with a laser pistol, the delightful calling card of Logan left carelessly on the corpse. He had been so upset that he had barely stopped to grab his shotgun before running off towards the Combat Zone. This had turned out to be a bad idea.

                For the second, he hadn’t told Fahrenheit where he was going. Only told her to stay and take care of Denny’s body and the mayhem that would soon follow when everyone started waking up and finding out what had happened. He should always fill Fahrenheit in. She was his number two for a reason. If she had come with him, maybe he wouldn’t be lying on the concrete floor of what looked to be a very disgusting jail cell. Though, who knew; maybe they’d both be here. He had seriously underestimated the sheer number of Raiders there were.

                For the third, he never should have told El to sleep alone the night before. He had slept poorly, his mind racing, wondering if what he was doing was right, filled with guilt at the thought that she might be in the other room suffering nightmares and memories alone. And now he would probably die with the last memory of El being her face as she turned away the night before, betrayal and terror fighting against the façade she tried so hard to leave up.

                He tried to think optimistically. They hadn’t killed him yet. From what he knew about the Combat Zone, it was an arena of sorts. He had been here once, a long, long time ago, before the Raiders moved in. Back then, the fighting had been in good fun, the bets only small wagers between drunken compatriots. Now it seemed as though the fighting that happened here was no longer just a few punches until someone’s nose bled. No—the stench here was indicative of something much more sinister than that.

                He finally mustered up the strength to put his hand to his head, gingerly feeling along the curve of his skull until his fingers found the lump there. Someone had brained him real good. He was missing his hat. He hated losing his hat.

                A scraping noise echoed through the room as the door was shoved open, revealing a large Raider wearing a sack hood and no shirt. Raiders always wore the dumbest shit.

                “Boss wants you ready to fight in 15.” The muffled voice called out, and Hancock scoffed.

                “Your boss can shove it.” Hancock retorted, slightly self-conscious of the rasp of his voice. The Raider let out a humorless laugh.

                “You fight or you die, ghoul. And lose the get-up. Boss wants everyone to see we got a ghoulie to fight. Especially one that ain’t feral.” The Raider taunted, and then turned, the door making the grating noise as it shut. Hancock screwed his eyes shut against the dim light, trying to think of what to do next. He was in no shape to stand up, let alone fight.

                “Don’t ya’ be worryin’ too much. I’ll go easy on ya’. At least fer the first round.” Came a voice from the corner, and the suddenness of it made Hancock sit up. Bolts of pain shot through his head as he tried to focus on who had spoken.

                “It’s never any fun when they knock ‘em around first. I like a fair fight.” Said the voice again, and Hancock could hear the lilt of a strange accent running through it. He focused his eyes on the corner of the room, trying to stop the spinning.

                “Doesn’t mean I won’t give ya’ a run for yer money though.” And Hancock now could see that the voice was coming from a woman, her back against the wall on the other side of the room. She sat on a stained and lumpy mattress, her leg pulled up and her arm resting on her knee. He could see the glint of red from her hair, and the paleness of her skin in the strange leather tank top she wore.

                “And who are you?” Hancock asked, running a hand over his face, trying to force himself not to vomit.

                “Me? Well my name is Cait, but that don’t matter much. What should matter to you is that I haven’t been defeated yet. And these boys pay me to fight to the death.” She said, with such a succinct matter-of-factness in her voice that it almost made Hancock laugh.

                “They pay you?” Hancock asked, feeling stupid at the question. Cait scoffed dismissively.

                “Not caps, no. But I don’t starve, and I get all the chems I could ask for.” She said, and he saw her reach beside her and grab something, which she tossed over to him. A syringe of Psycho.

                “Thanks. I’m more of a Mentats ghoul myself.” He said, though he still took the proffered chems, pulling his jacket off and lining the needle up. Psycho might not help his head, but it had been too long since he had had any chems in his system. He needed all the help he could get.

                “You’ll need the Psycho, darlin’. They like their fights messy.” She said, and he could see her vaguely gesture towards the door. Now that he was sitting up and concentrating, he could hear the shouts and general raucousness of the Raiders outside. The Psycho worked quickly, flooding his system with adrenaline, making the pounding in his head almost disappear and she shake of his limbs still.

                “No hard feelin’s, alright?” Cait said from the mattress, and made to stand. He could hear voices coming closer to the door. Time was up.

                “Yeah, sure. No hard feelings.”

 

.....

 

 

                El’s arm gave a slight twinge as she walked; reminding her again that she would be at a disadvantage when she got to the Combat Zone.

                As if she needed more reminding.

                Dr. Amari had removed the cast, and her arm had felt like jelly. It had taken a couple moments for her to be able to stretch it out properly. She silently thanked whoever would listen that it wasn’t her dominant arm. Though she wasn’t sure that it would make a difference in the end.

                Rounding the corner, she slipped into Kill or Be Killed without notice. The crowd in the courtyard had grown a bit, more people milling about, talking and looking nervous. El thought they were used to being reassured by Hancock, and without his presence, they weren’t entirely sure what to do.

                KLEO had returned behind her counter, standing still with the odd look of a calculating robot. It was unnerving, but El didn’t have time to be bothered by it.

                “What brings you by today?” KLEO asked in her smooth robotic tone. El came close to the counter, gaze focused on the large red port that served as KLEO’s eyes.

                “I need weapons. Gear. I gotta go after Hancock.” She said sharply, hoping not to have to argue her way into this one as well.

                “I think I can help you with that. What are you looking for?” the Assaultron asked, turning slightly to survey her stock. El thought for a moment, reeling slightly from the directness. She had expected more of an argument.

                “Uh, I need something long range. And I’ll take a combat shotgun if you’ve got it. And a sidearm. A leather chest piece would be good too. And ammo.” El listed, watching as KLEO started sifting through the weapons on the shelves and wall behind the counter. One by one she lifted weapons, checking their sights and weights, carefully choosing.

                “I just got this one in. Came from a trader up from the Capitol Wasteland. It’s been very significantly modded.” KLEO said, pushing a shotgun across the counter. El took it, surprised instantly by the lightness of it. The stock sat well in her shoulder, and she noticed it had a quick-draw attachment on the drum-magazine. She nodded, enjoying the feeling of a weapon in her hands again.

                “It’s got a compensator on it as well.” KLEO added, watching her sling the gun over her shoulder. The Assaultron handed El a scoped rifle, not quite as impressive as the shotgun, but decent enough. And then a .10mm pistol, which she tucked in the waistband of her jeans, at the small of her back.

                “I—I don’t have caps to pay you right now.” El said warily, watching KLEO as the robot placed a not insignificant amount of ammunition and grenades on the counter. It was quiet for a moment; the only sounds the rumble from outside and the soft whine of KLEO’s internal parts.

                “I’ll put it on the mayors tab.” She finally said, her clawed arms pushing the bullets and magazines towards El.

                She was quickly suited up, KLEO finding her not only a decent set of leather armor, but a backpack to put all the extras in that fit well and allowed her access to the weapons. She was struck by the feeling of being well-armed once more, the feeling of not being helpless, not being so fragile; it felt good.

                “Thanks KLEO. I’ll pay you when I come back, alright?” El said, turning to go.

                “Just bring the mayor back. We can work something out after that.” Came the reply, and El gave a sharp nod, before heading out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cait's here! I do hope I didn't muck up her accent too much.


	22. Rivers Til I Reach You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told ya' I'd try to put chapters up quickly! Two in one day, I'd say that's a good start. I'll try to have the next chapter up by tomorrow-- It's a good one.

               The Combat Zone was not far away from Goodneighbor. She vaguely remembered wandering the ruins after escaping, her drug addled mind not allowing her to form a coherent plan, but still guiding her to a place that somewhere inside she knew was safe. It was an old theater from before the war. She had gone to see a show there with Nate once.

                It was far enough away however for her mind to change about a dozen times. Was she really going to do this? Alone? Run into a nest of Raiders, some of whom were likely the ones who had-             

                “Shut up.” She growled to herself, readjusting the stock of the shotgun in her hands. She was getting closer, and the sweat that formed on her palms wasn’t just from the relative warmth of the day. She hadn’t pulled a trigger on a gun since that day, almost three months before, when the Raiders had taken her in Concord. What if she was out of practice? What if there were too many of them? What if she sighted on one and lost her nerve, the memories overtaking her before she could take the shot?

                No. She stopped her thoughts once more. She was Ella Carson, dammit. She had crossed the Glowing Sea four times. She had taken down the Institute, set up settlements all across the Commonwealth. Not to mention she had destroyed the one thing that passed as a military in this godforsaken Wasteland. She shuttered, remembering the fire in Elder Maxson’s eyes, and the dull gleam of them as she had put the final bullet in his head. He had wanted to kill her so badly. So many people had.

                And yet she wasn’t dead. So many had tried. She had been awake not even 2 years yet, and still she had faced death more times than she could count. But every time, she came out on top. That had to count for something—right?

                She came to the corner of the street and knew that just around the corner was the road the Combat Zone sat on. The Raiders had built junk walls at random intervals along the road, which made for good cover. El chanced a peek around the corner. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted the first Raider, leaning against a wall beside a turret. She slipped back, letting herself lean against the brick of the building she stood beside.

                “Get it together. You have to do this.” She whispered to herself, trying to still her racing heart. She could hear the blood in her ears, pounding so loudly she thought it must be audible on the outside. She smacked her head lightly against the wall, trying to focus, when something caught her attention on the other side of the street. She slinked over towards it, careful to keep herself low.

                It was Fahrenheit. The woman was covered in blood, how much of it was her own El couldn’t tell. She was collapsed in a heap behind a burned out car. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, her hand still tightly grasping the grip of her pistol. El pulled her backpack around, rifling through before she came out with a stimpak. Dr. Amari had given her a modest first aid kit when she realized what El was going to do.

                “Hey, where are you hurt?” El asked sharply, gripping the woman’s chin and bringing her face up. Fahrenheit’s eyes popped open, and she made to move, but El pushed her back with a hand on her chest.

                “Shut up. Do you want them to hear you?” El hissed, and Fahrenheit stopped moving, turning her eyes to focus on El.

                “You?” She said weakly and El scoffed.

                “Yeah. Me. Now where do you want this?” El asked, holding up the stimpak. Fahrenheit stared at it for a moment before her arm moved, gesturing to her side.

                “Gut shot. Bastards.” The woman said, and El was almost one hundred percent sure the only reason she was still alive was out of spite. El jammed the needle into Fahrenheit’s side, around the straps of her combat armor. Fahrenheit reached up, running a hand through her sweat-matted red hair.

                “Think you’ll live til I get back?” El asked, her eyes darting up to check the road. They were still alone.

                “You can’t go in there. There’s no way. I took out a few of them, but there’s always more. They just kept coming.” She said, and coughed. El was relieved to see there was no blood after the fit passed. El slung the bag back over her shoulder, readjusting everything until it sat right.

                “I have to. I have to get Hancock.” She said, her gaze drifting back over the car. El felt Fahrenheit’s hand grasp her arm, hard.

                “There’s a shit load of Raiders in there. I don’t have to know the details about what happened to you to get that this ain’t gonna be a happy reunion for ya’. I know what you did before, what Hancock says you’re capable of. But if you go in there, you gotta get your head right. If you don’t, they’ll kill you, and him.” Fahrenheit spoke, and the words sounded forced through pain. El nodded absently, her mind mulling over the words. She knew they were true. The fact they came from this woman who had seemed to want nothing to do with her did not lessen the impact.

                “I know. Do you need another stimpak?” El asked, noting that Fahrenheit was becoming more animated. She shook her head.

                “No. I got my pistol. If you ain’t back by nightfall, well—I guess we’ll see.” She said, her voice quiet. El glanced at the sky. Probably close to two. Didn’t matter. Once she got in there, things would move rather quickly. They always did.

                “Alright. Don’t die.” El said as a farewell, and silently moved back to her place on the opposite side of the street. She felt bolstered now. Still not completely confident, but her mind was quieted, she could think again. She got in place and chanced another peek around the corner. Now she could see two Raiders, flanking the turret.  She could see a pile of bodies, must have been five or six, next to another junk wall a little ways away; the ones Fahrenheit had taken out, no doubt.

                El reached behind her, her hand searching the side pocket of her backpack for the frag grenades that KLEO had forced on her before she left. Finding one she pulled it off, the cool metal feeling reassuringly solid in the palm of her hand. With another quick glance, she pulled the pin.

                “Now or never.” She whispered to herself, and tossed the grenade in a graceful arc towards the turret.

 

 

.....

 

 

                Hancock felt the reverberation of an explosion through the floor of the cell. It was about all he felt at the moment, the rest of his body numb from chems and cold and fatigue. The fight had been vicious, lasting far longer than he wanted it to. But he had lived—this time.

                Cait sat in the corner, munching on something that-- had he been feeling better-- probably would have smelled delicious. The woman was almost in the same condition as when they had left earlier in the day. He had barely been able to get a hit on her. Not that he really tried. Mostly he had taken up a defensive posture, just trying to take the hits, deflect them, rather than deal them out. He wasn’t sure what his plan had been, but the Raiders hadn’t liked it.

                “Fight back, you feral!” They had screamed, and he fought the chills he got at the memory. He was mostly naked now, only his black linen pants and boots still on. They had wanted everyone to see what he was, wanted to see Cait bash in the face of a ghoul, without the danger of dealing with a feral. It made his skin crawl.

                “Sounds like someone’s havin’ a bit o’ fun out there.” Cait said, referring to the blast they felt. Hancock didn’t respond. Cait scoffed from the corner.

                “I told you no hard feelin’s, didn’t I?” She asked, though more to herself than to him.

                “Suppose you did.” He answered, though his voice sounded harsh and cracked.

                “You should get up, move around a bit. Won’t be long before they have us goin’ at it again, darlin’.” She said, apparently nonplussed. He forced himself into a sitting position, shutting his eyes as the room began a slow and lazy spiral.

                “You could pull a few punches or something, you know. I was supposed to be here to stop all this.” He said, though his tone held no conviction. She laughed.

                “Yeah, you and everyone else. Ya’ know how many mercs and treasure hunters I’ve put down in that cage? They all say the same damn thing. Do ya’ even know how many Raiders are out there right now darlin’? Too many for just one person ta’ take on, that’s fer sure. It’s foolhardy at best and stupid at worst, and I don’t intend on dyin’ because I get a bleedin’ heart for every wanna be savior that comes through that door.” Cait spoke, her tone light, as though she had given this speech a few times before. Hancock grunted, leaning his back up against the wall. The door beside him grated against the floor as it was pushed from the other side.

                “You got 10 minutes. Boss wants this one to end. With a clear winner.” The Raider said, voice dropping menacingly with his last sentence. Hancock winced as the door slammed again.

                “Well. It was nice chattin’ with ya’ anyways.” Cait said. It was all Hancock could do to laugh.

 


	23. What Will You Be and When?

 

                The turret explosion had taken out the two Raiders, just as she had expected. She waited as the flames died down to a small roll, contained to the remains of the machine. No one came out to investigate. She stayed put, not wanting to move in before she was sure no one would come and see. Minutes passed. Finally, it was too long for anyone to conceivably be coming, so with a quick check of her shotgun, she slid around the junk wall and into the small courtyard that led into the building.

                The sign above the door said “The Combat Zone” in large red painted letters, as if it needed more introduction. El could see now there were a few more bodies around the corner; maybe from Hancock? She suddenly wished desperately for a Stealth-Boy, the comfort and security of being invisible. Deacon likely would have had a few she could've used. But she didn’t have the time to track him down, nor was she sure she really wanted to.

                She picked over the corpses, surprised to find a couple useful items on the bodies. She shoved a Molotov cocktail, some shotgun shells, and a syringe of Psycho into her bag, trying not to think of the pull she felt when holding the chem. Then, before she lost her nerve, she approached the door, heart hammering in her throat, but her hands steady.

                “Here we go.” She whispered to herself, and pulled the door open.

                The first room was empty, save for two hooded and bound figures on display in the old ticket booth. The sign behind them said “Rule Breakers”. She hadn’t noticed it when she was here before. They sat fairly still in the booth, so she ignored them, instead pushing forwards towards the sounds of a raucous crowd in the room beyond. She could hear the muffled voice of an announcer over some kind of loudspeaker system. Between the noise and the distance, she couldn’t make out the words.

                _Good. Then they won’t hear you coming._ The voice in her head spoke, fierce and ready. She was moving on muscle memory now, body tensed and ready for a fight. She had done this before. Many times. Images flashed through her mind; the Prydwen, The Institute, the Gunner base at Quincy. She had beaten the odds every time and come out on top. This time would be no different. She had to believe that.

                Slowly and silently she cracked the door to the main room, peeking through into the dimness. She saw the arena right away; it was the only thing in the room that was lit up. Good. All the focus would be there for the time being. Aside from that, the room was set up in a fairly straight forward way. There were some makeshift kiosks around the edge of the large theater, and the seating had mostly been removed, leaving room for the Raiders to stand and watch the fights.

                She could see the silhouettes of dozens of Raiders, all mostly clustered close to the arena. Now that she had the door open, she could hear the announcer more clearly, though she paid it no attention.  Her mind was calculating, planning on how to take the most out in one go. Obviously a grenade. She could get most of them right off the bat with one thrown into the main body of the crowd. Then it would be easy to pick of the remainder in the confusion of the aftermath.

                She pulled back, closing the door softly. She ignored the thoughts that threatened to drown her, how the smell of the place permeated her senses, the hot air in the main room reminding her of her captivity. She didn’t have time for that now. Hancock was here somewhere. He had to be. She had to find him, get him back. That was the only thing to do. She checked the sight of her gun, making sure the safety was off once more. Then she reached back and grasped another grenade, pulling it from the pocket where it sat. It was time to go.

                She yanked the door open, her arm already pulled back, ready to lob the grenade. She stepped into the room and let the bomb fly.

                Just as Hancock was pushed into the arena.

 

.....

 

 

                Hancock saw the light from the door, and made out the figure silhouetted there just as the explosion rocked the building. He fell to the ground, though more from a need to get his bearings than from danger. Cait was already in the ring, but she too was watching the scene unfold before them.

                All he could hear now was screaming. That and the dull roar in his ears left from the explosion. He couldn’t tell from the cage how many were down; the lights were too bright to see much. Dust filtered through the air around him, and he squinted, trying to make anything out. Cait was pressed up against the fencing around the cage, her fingers gripping the wire as she struggled to see.

                Suddenly, gunshots began. Someone shot out two of the lights, probably for better visibility, and with that he could finally survey the scene. Bodies and limbs were strewn everywhere. He searched, trying to see where the grenade had come from. The doorway was empty now, but the Raiders who were still capable of holding weapons were shooting towards one of the wooden structures near the top of the room. There was a beat where no one returned fire, and then a flaming Molotov came arcing out of the gloom, landing squarely in the group of Raiders.

                The explosion from the Molotov was slightly less jarring than the grenade had been, but no less devastating. The Raiders screamed and ran about, trying to put themselves out. His nose caught the scent of seared flesh, burnt hair. He tried to count how many were left, tried to make out what was happening, but the scene was chaotic.

                There was another explosion as one of the Raiders lobbed a grenade in the direction the Molotov had come from. For a moment, it was quiet as the dust settled, but then another shot rang out, hitting the Raider who had thrown the bomb square in the head, turning it to a fine red mist. Now he caught a glimpse of the assailant, crouched low and moving between the shoddy buildings.

                It was El.

                There were fewer than ten Raiders alive now. They were in rare form, confused and disorganized from the sudden brutality of the attack. El used this to her advantage, keeping to the shadows and popping up in different places, landing shot after shot as though it were child’s play. She had a shotgun, and wielded it with deadly precision. She moved with a grace and poise that struck him as almost beautiful. He watched, open mouthed, as she tossed a bit of debris from the floor, distracting the Raider closest to her enough for her to blast him directly in the back, the force of her shot throwing him a good three feet.

                It was a macabre dance, and she knew it well. This was not the fragile and frightened woman who he had known the last few weeks in Goodneighbor. No, Hancock knew that the woman he was watching was the woman he had heard so much about: The Savior of the Commonwealth. The Sole Survivor. The legend herself. And now, watching as she calmly stood and walked up to the last Raider --who was desperately trying to reload his weapon—He knew why she was called all those things. Her last shot hit its mark. And the Raider fell dead. She had cleared the entirety of the Combat Zone. Alone.

                “Holy shit. If it isn’t the wee Raven.” Cait breathed from beside him, her face still jammed against the fence. Hancock pushed up from the floor, coming to stand beside her. El was standing there, stock still, staring down at the body she had just finished off. There was a gash on her forehead, streaking her face in blood. What wasn’t covered in blood was dusted in a layer of grey; a mixture of dust and gunpowder. She looked downright wild. She also looked like she was going to throw up.

                “El! El, Sunshine, unlock the cage.” He said, suddenly overcome with a desperate need to get to her. She acted as though she didn’t hear him, still staring at the body in front of her.

                “El!” He called again, to no avail. He watched as she raised the gun she held, holding it in the crook of her arm and fired. Shot after shot she let go into the body on the ground. There was a dull noise as each shot hit, the body becoming more and more destroyed as she continued.

                He barely noticed Cait moving away from him, couldn’t understand when she started talking to someone behind him. He could only watch as El emptied her magazine into the body in front of her. When the last shot came, the gun dropped from her hands and she stood there, limp and empty.

                “Hey! You lookin’ ta’ stand there all day or do ya’ wanna be gettin’ out of here?” Cait called to him, and he spun to see the gate open to the arena fence, a portly looking ghoul standing white-faced next to Cait. He raised a brow, but decided there would be time for introductions later. He moved quickly down the steps out of the cage, grateful he had been allowed to keep his boots on as he hit the floor and slid; he didn’t need to look down to know it was slick with blood.

                “Hey Sunshine.” He spoke soothingly as he came towards El. Closer now, he could see her hyperventilating. First thing was first—he needed to get her to calm down.

                “El. Look at me.” He said, finally reaching her. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him, crush her in an embrace and not let go for a very long time. But he could save that for later. He ducked a bit so his eyes could meet hers, trying to step around the viscera that had once been the Raider. Her green eyes glinted in the dim light, so wide he could see the whites all around them.

                “El, we’re getting out of here now. You did it, Sunshine.” He coaxed. He could hear Cait coming up behind him and turned to tell her to leave, to get away, but found her focused on El as well, squinting as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

                “Well I’ll be damned. It is you, little bird.” Cait said, coming up next to him. El jerked at her words, her gaze shifting to Cait. Hancock tried not to be jealous about it.

                “Y-you-,” El said abstractedly to Cait.

                “Yeah, and who else would it be? I thought you’d be long dead by now, little Raven.” Cait said, almost lightly.

                “Hey I hate to break this party up, but we should probably go!” The other ghoul called from the cage, his accent one of the annoying old Boston ones. He touched El’s elbow lightly, bringing her attention back to him.

                “Ready to get the hell out of here, Sunshine?” He asked, and to his relief, El nodded.


	24. Don't Let Me Be Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely living for everyone's comments. Every time I get one I get this big dumb smile on my face and want to run home and start writing straight away! You guys are seriously the best, and I hope that you're still enjoying. The next few chapters are pretty sweet. Hancock is a big ol' softy sweet boy and I love writing him.

               The other ghoul’s name was Tommy, and he was the announcer slash unofficial manager for Cait at the Combat Zone. Hancock learned this as the two of them half walked, half dragged Fahrenheit back through the ruins towards Goodneighbor. El and Cait walked ahead of them a few paces, the latter holding one of the guns El had brought. El walked stiffly, though whether it was from pain or emotion Hancock couldn’t tell. She hadn’t spoken since they left.

                “Goodneighbor is down this way. You two are welcome to stay there for as long as you need.” Hancock said, unsure of what the two planned to do. It seemed that without the Combat Zone, they were rather without a home, as much as that place hadn’t really been one.

                His offer was received cordially, and within a few minutes they were stepping over the threshold of the town. He had wondered vaguely what their reception would be, and wasn’t surprised to find half the town crammed into the courtyard, so that when the group of them came through the junk door, a huge roar of applause came almost instantly. They were surrounded, Fahrenheit taken away to Dr. Amari, Cait and Tommy as well, just for posterity. Hancock declined to go, instead receiving pats on the back and handshakes welcoming his return.

                His only thoughts were for El, however. He tried to disentangle himself multiple times, but the crowd was too dense, too eager for him to get out quickly. He lost sight of her in the fray and tried to push past everyone. He made little headway until Daisy came into the crowd, whistling loudly through her teeth with an authority that brought the riotous lot to an almost dead quiet.

                “Let the man go fix himself up, then you can all buy him a drink later down in the Third Rail, alright?” She called, and her suggestion was heralded with whoops and cheers. He nodded to her in thanks and moved off towards the Statehouse, anxious to find El.

                As he entered the old building, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was quiet and dark, and just what he needed at the moment. His head throbbed, and he was just now beginning to notice all the aches and pains he had gathered from the day’s events. He could deal with them later though. Now, he needed to find El. He needed to see her.

                He searched the building, finally finding her in one of the upstairs bathrooms. She had stripped off her armor and most of her clothes and stood in the tub, scrubbing vigorously at her skin with the water that streamed from the tap. He could see the red welts where she had scrubbed too hard, and fought his instinct to leave, instead moving quickly and grabbing the cloth from her hand. She jerked as though realizing he was there for the first time, though he hadn’t been sneaking.

                “Let me help you, Sunshine.” He said gently, taking her arm. Her eyes were vivid and bright with a wild terror, as though she couldn’t get a hold on herself. She let him sit her down in the tub, however. The water lapped around her legs as she sat, and he dipped the rag she held into it. The water was already turning a dingy grey, but nonetheless he began to work, wiping the blood from her face first. He felt the tremor in her as he scrubbed, the constant tenseness of her body. She was close to breaking. She needed him to be there when it happened.

                He wiped the blood and grime from her, careful not to linger around the scars too long, though he didn’t think she would notice if he did. She stared forwards, her eyes occasionally darting to the door at a loud noise from outside.

                “You’re safe now, El.” He said soothingly, finishing by taking her hands in his and scrubbing the blood from her fingernails. She had kept her undershirt and underwear on, and the fabric clung to her skinny frame, making her seem even smaller and more fragile than she was. He kept his eyes on her face, sedulously avoiding looking at her scars.

                “Am I?” She whispered ominously, and he chose to ignore it.

                “There. All clean. Now, let’s go into the other room and sit down for a bit, alright?” He said, standing. She stayed sitting in the tub, hands held limply at her sides. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, before opening them and nodding to himself. He removed his red coat, retrieved among other things by Tommy before they left the Combat Zone, and draped it over her, heedless of the water. With a deft move, he scooped her up into his arms. She was tense, but didn’t struggle, allowing him to take her into the bedroom down the hall. It was the one they had shared, before he had callously told her they wouldn’t be doing that anymore. The thought of it ate at him as he placed her gently on the bed.

                “Talk to me, El. What’s going on in your mind?” He said, wanting to get her talking, wanting to wrestle her thoughts back from the dark place they were in. Her hands were beginning to shake with intensity and he pulled the blanket back from the bed and draped it around her. The last thing she needed was to go into shock right now.

                “I-I can’t-,” She stammered, her voice very small. She bunched the sheets up in her fists, as though trying to gain any hold on the reality before her. Still, Hancock could see her slipping.

                “You’re here now, with me. You got me and Fahrenheit back safe, El. You’re alright.” He tried to soothe her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. She flinched, and that was it. Her face crumpled, and the tenuous grasp she had on herself dissolved.

                “Please stop!” She cried out, with such a broken and cracked voice that Hancock felt his blood run cold. He knew she no longer saw him, no longer knew she was in the Statehouse, safe. He could see in her eyes that she was back, under the torturous captivity of the Raiders.

                “El, Sunshine. Listen to me. They won’t hurt you anymore!” He called, trying anything to bring her back. Her chest heaved and she kicked her legs frantically, smashing herself back into the frame of the bed. He didn’t want to grab her, didn’t want her to feel constricted, but she was very close to hurting herself. His mind reeled, unsure of what to do.

                “No, no, no, no-,” She repeated, her breathing coming ragged and stuttered in between words. She had her eyes screwed shut and she was trying to make herself as small as possible, trying to get away from him. He reached out and grasped her arm, trying to stop her from moving so much. She screamed; a bloodcurdling sound that rent the air around him and made him draw back as though burned. She flailed sideways, away from him and fell off the bed, landing with a hard thud on the floor, her lower limbs tangled in the blankets.

                “El! Ella! Look at me!” Hancock yelled, going against his better judgement to try and touch her again. He needed to get her to look at him again, needed to get her to realize where she was. She was struggling with the blankets, panting with effort at the flashback. He ripped the blanket away and tossed it behind him. Her legs now free, she stopped floundering, pulling her knees up to her chest.

                “Sunshine, I need you to look at me.” He said, and slowly put his hand out. He found her chin and raised her face to his, slowly, carefully. Tears and snot smeared her cheeks, her mossy eyes bloodshot in the light of the room. The gash on her forehead had reopened, and a trickle of blood slid down her temple. She was strung tight; he could feel it in her skin beneath his hand. Still, she didn’t try to get away.

                “Look at me, El. Listen to me. It’s John—it’s Hancock. You’re here with me again, okay?” He coaxed gently, trying not to let his own emotions break into his voice. She was breathing so hard he was almost sure she would pass out, but after what seemed like an eternity, her chest began to regulate, the breaths coming from deeper within.

                “H-Hancock?” Her voice came, so softly he almost couldn’t hear her. He nodded, letting a smile come to his lips.

                “Yeah Sunshine. It’s me.” He said, slowly letting his other hand brush a stray strand of hair from her face. Her eyes were calming, losing the intense ferocity they had held since he had seen her in the Combat Zone.

                “I’m back?” She asked pitifully. He nodded.

                “You’re back in the Statehouse with me. Do you remember how you got here?” He asked. She let her eyes drift from his for a minute. He wiped a thumb over the blood, smearing it against her skin but preventing it from dripping off her jaw.

                “No. No I remember… I remember the Raiders. They were-were-,” She stuttered, and Hancock could hear the emotion rising in her voice and put his hands on the base of her skull, cradling her head and forcing her to look at him.

                “El. They’re gone. You killed them. You came to find me and Fahrenheit and rescued us. We came back to Goodneighbor and got you cleaned up. You’re with me now, in one of the rooms in the Statehouse. It’s just us.” He explained, watching her eyes as he spoke. She blinked hard, as though trying to remember, and then let her head shake a bit.

                “I-I don’t-,”

                “It’s alright. You don’t have to remember El. Just know you’re safe.” He said.

                “I’m safe.” She repeated. He nodded encouragingly.

                “Yeah. Wanna get off the floor now?” He asked, and she looked around as though realizing for the first time she was on the floor. She stood, allowing him to grab her arm to help her. He retrieved the blanket and tucked it around her, all the while focusing on her face. She watched him intently, as though his movements were hypnotizing.

                “I’m really tired.” She said, her hands once again wrapped in the worn fabric of the blanket. He nodded.

                “I bet. You lay down, alright? I’ll be here while you sleep, make sure nothing happens to you.” He said, patting the pillow behind her. He watched as she slid down, laying her head where he touched. Her eyes fluttered shut, as though to hold them open a minute longer was impossible. He sat beside her, his hand tracing soothing circles on the soft skin of her inner forearm. Within a minute, her breathing changed, and she fell into the soft rhythm of sleep.

               


	25. Our Friends Say It's Darkest Before the Sun Rises

Hancock let the door close with a soft click behind him. He felt guilty leaving her alone, but he had things he needed to tend to before going back to her. Sleep had taken her so suddenly and so deeply that he didn’t think she would know he was gone.

                He headed down the hall, intent on going to see Fahrenheit and the other two they had brought back. He was sure he would have to fill Daisy and the others from the Neighborhood Watch in on what had happened, if only to prevent rumors from spreading. He also needed a damn drink and preferably some Jet, but that could wait if it had to.

                He was about to start down the spiral staircase towards the exit when something caught his eye in his office. It was Cait. She was standing near his desk, her hands touching over all the bits and bobs on the surface. He stopped, watching for a moment, before changing direction and walking into the room.

                “Thought you were with Dr. Amari?” Hancock said, and though it was phrased as a question the tone in his voice made sure she knew it was not.

                “Oh I was to be sure. But I havena’ been hit at all, have I? Plus, I wanted to see for myself where the wee Raven went.” Cait said, affecting casualness. Hancock raised a brow at her.

                “Raven?” He asked. Cait smiled her fingers still playing across the desk.

                “That dark lass. The one you called El.” She replied, leaving him with more questions than answers.

                “You know her?”

                “Know would be a strong word, but aye, I’ve been acquainted with her before. She was in much worse repair the last time I laid eyes on her though.” Cait spoke, her eyes coming to meet Hancock’s. Now they were down to it. They both had questions it seemed the other might answer.

                 “Why’d you call her Raven?” He asked, trying to start with something innocuous. Cait made a sweeping gesture with her hand. He could see the red track marks on her bare arms from years of chem abuse. The sight sent a shiver through him as he remembered El’s arms the day in the warehouse.

                “Just a nickname. She wasn’t for speakin’ much when I knew her. She never told me her real name. Quietest Psycho addict I’ve ever laid eyes on, though. Just watched you with those big dark eyes she’s got. Unsettling, like one of those big black birds sittin’ over something waiting for it to die.” She said, and watched him intently, as though seeing if he would react to her statement.

                “Never thought she could do somethin’ like I saw her do today though. She isn’t just some lass the Raiders grabbed then, is she?” Cait asked mildly. Hancock crossed his arms over his chest.

                “You never heard of Ella Carson?” He asked, voice a tad harsher than he meant for it to be. Cait seemed not to mind.

                “In case you hadn’t noticed, The Combat Zone didn’t get much news. I know about as much as Tommy wanted me to, and that wasn’t much.” She said and he could see her tense slightly as she spoke.

                “Let’s just say she’s a hell of a lot more than some ‘Lass the Raiders grabbed’. The last few months ain’t been to kind to her.” He said, his voice lowering. A thought struck him.

                “You… You never had to fight her, did you?” He asked, trying not to envision El how he had found her the day she had stumbled into Goodneighbor trying to hold her own against the broad woman that stood before him. Cait chuckled heartily.

                “Me? Fight that bitty thing? No-- one punch from me and that bird would be knockin’ on heaven’s door to be sure. No. Your wee Raven there was used for…other, less savory entertainment.” She answered with an air of inscrutability. He cringed inwardly at the implication.

                “No, I do believe that one of the Raider bastards brought her along during his visit. Didn’t want ta’ risk losing his merchandise, if you know what I’m sayin’. She was stuck with me in that room for about two weeks before I helped her escape.” Cait said. Hancock jerked slightly.

                “Helped her escape?” He asked, forgetting the calm candor he was striving to maintain. Cait smirked a bit, though not at him he thought. More at the remembering.

                “Aye. Only so many times you can wake up to a lass being raped a couple feet away from ya’ before ya’ lose your appetite. And I needed ta’ stay alive in the ring. Can’t be doin’ that on an empty stomach.” She said nonchalantly. Hancock saw her eyes as she spoke however, and they belied her cool manner. His own manner threatened to crumble at her words though. Rape. He had known, hell, she had told him. But the word, the actual action had not been spoken. It sent an icy ripple down his back.

                “No, I don’t suppose you can.” He answered, only half listening to what came out of his own mouth. Cait went on.

                “I gave her all the Psycho I had saved up, enough ta’ get her by a couple of weeks at least. I had a pretty free run o’ the joint, so all it took was a couple white lies to get the bird out a window in the back. She was long gone when the first one came for his turn that night.” She said, and now he knew she was trying to get a response from him. Why that was, he didn’t know.

                “Got myself a right beatin’ for that one, to be sure. But I slept like a baby.” She finished. Hancock took a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm himself. He was torn between wanting to punch Cait for the nonchalant way she spoke about El and what she had been through, and kissing the woman for having helped El escape. He settled for neither, instead standing up straighter and focusing his gaze on her.

                “Well, thank you for helping her. You’re welcome to shack up here as long as you want. You and Tommy. I don’t think the Combat Zone is gonna be fit for customers any time soon.” He said, wanting to go, to check on Fahrenheit and run the rest of his errands before El woke up. He was going to leave when Cait spoke, stopping him.

                “Y’know Hancock, I called her that nickname—wee Raven-- for a reason. Birds like that aren’t meant to be locked in a cage. Neither was she.” She said, and this time when she spoke, her voice was soft. Hancock nodded to her and turned to go, the memory of El’s dark and feral eyes flashing through his mind.

 


	26. I'm Alright With a Slow Burn

 

                El hadn’t dreamed, but when she woke to the empty room she could swear the specter of hands and bodies grazed her skin, and the smell of beer and stale cigarettes stung her nose. She sat up slowly, conscious of every muscle it took to do it. She was sore, terribly sore and her head throbbed. For a minute, she thought she was still stuck in the throes of withdrawal; but her stomach was quiet, and her hands were still. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to relax, force herself to remember. Snatches of images flashed through her mind: Fahrenheit’s battered body leaned against a car, the two bound Raiders in the ticket booth of the Combat Zone, the feel of a Molotov, hot in her hand before she threw it, the body of the Raider turning to sludge as she released shot after shot into the corpse.

                She remembered seeing Hancock, his hands soft on her chin as he tried to make her see him. And she remembered Cait, strong and capable as ever, calling her the stupid nickname she had given her.

                And she remembered panicking. She remembered the flashback, seeing in her mind the faces of Raiders above her, below her, surrounding her. She remembered screaming, begging, pleading. And she remembered finally giving up. The pull of the drug and the promise of oblivion making the struggle far from worth it.

                Her breathing rasped, coming hard through her tightening throat. She tried to get a hold of herself, tried to think of anything else, but the panic was rising in her chest again, strong.

                And then the door opened, and Hancock came in the room. He was to the bed in three strides, kneeling next to her and staring intently at her face.

                “Hey, hey. None of that again, alright? Sorry I left, I wanted to be here when you woke up, but I had to go see to some stuff.” He said softly, and she felt her heartrate begin to slow at the sound of his voice.

                “You thirsty?” I brought some water for you. Figured you could use it.” He said, producing a can and holding it out to her. She took it, with only a slight tremble to her hand, she noted. He smiled at her. He was hatless, wearing only a white shirt and his black pants and boots. His jacket sat at the end of the bed; it looked wet.

                “How is Fahrenheit?” El asked when she had taken a sip of the water. It was lukewarm and tasted slightly of metal, but it bolstered her.

                “She’s alive. She’s pissed that she’ll be out of commission for a bit, but she ain’t dead, so that’s something.” He said, watching her closely. She nodded, and looked down to her hands where she had begun picking away at the label on the water.

                “How are you?” She asked, and she felt her cheeks flush as he stifled a laugh.

                “Me? How am I? Well Sunshine, my pride is hurt and I imagine I’ll be sore getting out of bed tomorrow, but thanks to you, Cait didn’t get to beat me to a pulp.” He said, and she swallowed hard.

                “I should have come sooner, but I had to get my cast off.” She said, feeling stupid as she held up her arm. It was sore, but so was the rest of her.

                “You shouldn’t have come at all, El. It was my dumb ass move that caused it. You shouldn’t have had to clean it up.” He said, and his eyes moved from hers to where his hands sat clasped together on the bed.

                “I-I had to…I-,” She started, not knowing how to finish. She hadn’t thought about it when Daisy told her, not all that much. She just knew she had to go to him.

                “It’s what I do.” She said finally, the words coming out barely audible. She heard the breath of air huff out from his nose as she said it.

                “I’m sorry El.” Hancock spoke after a while. She looked at him, his gaze still stuck on his hands.

                “I never should have—fuck, I messed up. I thought that if I distanced myself from you; let you start learning how to be on your own, it would make it easier for you. But when I saw you today, when we got back here and-,” He rambled, and she reached out, her body reacting before her brain could keep up. She placed her hand gently over his. And there it was. The link between them. Or at least, what she thought was a link. She didn’t know if it went both ways, if he felt the same whenever she touched him, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was here. That Hancock was here.

                “I’m sorry.” He whispered, his eyes finally drawing up to meet hers. She shook her head slightly, and she felt his fingers move to twine between hers.

                “It’s okay. I know why you did it.” She said, trying to sound resilient. She didn’t want him to know what that night had felt like to her.

                “El-,” He started, as though thinking of something suddenly. “Are _you_ okay? You asked about me and Fahr, but we’re fine. How-how are you doing?” He asked, almost shyly. She swallowed, trying to work past the tight feeling in her throat.

                “I-I don’t know.” She answered honestly. Her head was a jumbled mess of memories and thoughts, feelings warring to come to the forefront. Hancock stood, not letting go of her hand and moved to sit beside her.

                “I thought… I thought that if I killed them, I might feel…something.” She said, letting her tongue take over for her mind. Hancock’s hand gave hers a light squeeze, encouraging.

                “I felt like myself when Daisy told me. I felt like I did… before. I knew what I had to do and I knew how to do it and I knew I could do it. And I felt strong. And capable. And I thought that if I went in there and killed all those _fucks_ that I would feel better, feel free, feel something different.” She said, the words tumbling out unbidden. Hancock was intent on her, taking in every word.

                “But I still just feel them, their hands, and their bodies. I taste them on my lips and I smell them. Every noise I hear, every time that door opens I’m convinced I’ll be back there.” She said, her voice trembling. She wanted to stop, told herself he didn’t need to hear this; but he had asked.

                “And maybe I haven’t killed the right ones. Maybe I have to kill… the one who took me. Maybe then it will be better. But today-,” She paused, drawing a deep breath, bolstering herself to go on. “-today I killed one of them. I knew his face and I knew his voice and I knew how he moved and I killed him. But I still see him. I know when I dream I’ll still see his face.” She said, and the memory of the battered corpse floated through her vision, though it didn’t help. A tear started to track down her face and she wiped it away impatiently.

                “So I don’t know how I feel. Because I thought- I thought maybe that if I decided not to kill myself, I could at least hunt them down. I could kill them and it would be better, that I could find myself, get myself back from them. But now I don’t know. Because what if I do and nothing changes? What if I’m never the same again?” She said, fighting through a sob. She was breaking down fast now, the words coming out an admission of something she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

                “Sunshine…” Hancock soothed from in front of her. She shook her head, trying to brush at her cheeks but it was futile now.

                “It’s like I don’t even own my own body anymore. I just live in here, trapped with ghosts that won’t go away and that I can’t ignore.” She finished. Her shoulders slumped as the words left her, as though with the admission of everything held inside, somehow her spine had gone too. Hancock moved closer, one of his hands rising very slowly to wipe at her cheek. He kept it there, his palm cool on her heated skin. She let herself lean into the touch.

                “It will get better, El. Time will move on and no, you won’t be the same. But you’ll still be you. You’ll still be who you are. You’ll be stronger.” He spoke, his voice graveled with fatigue. She raised one of her hands to his on her cheek and pressed it there, wanting to keep the feeling as long as she could. A touch she could bear. A touch she wanted, one that didn’t feel like the Raiders knives against her skin.

                “And if it doesn’t get better?” She asked quietly, not wanting to hear his answer. He shifted, moving so he could bring her face closer to his. She thought vaguely that she should be nervous, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be anything other than comforted.

                “It has to.” He said, very gently. He was very close to her now, his black eyes boring into hers. Perhaps it was the fact he was a ghoul, his touch  and looks inherently different from that of anyone else’s, or more likely, it was just him, the force of him, his being, that made her lean forward and plant her lips gently on his. He didn’t move, and for a moment she thought she had made a mistake, until the hand that sat on her cheek slid back, just a bit, cradling her head. She moved back after a moment, feeling very self-conscious and looking down towards the sheets that covered her legs.

                “S-sorry.” She stammered, after he dropped his hand from her face, letting it go to his side. He moved and took her hands in his again.

                “You don’t have to apologize for that Sunshine.” He said, and she knew he meant it. Still, she kept talking, trying to explain.

                “I-I thought if I could…could maybe-,” She floundered, not sure anymore what she had thought. She only knew she wanted him closer, wanted memories of him to take the place of all the bad ones. She chanced a glance at him, and he was looking at her so hard she thought he would see through her. She shifted, unsure of what to do, what to say.

                “El, do you want to kiss me again?” He asked suddenly, and her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed audibly. And she nodded. He gently pulled her hands towards him, bringing her closer but not forcing. She leaned forward once more, shutting her eyes as their lips met again. If she had thought holding hands was electric, this time as they touched it was like a bomb went off. Her heart hammered. Her brain was solely focuses on the connection, her mind racing as it took in everything about him, the way he smelled, the way he let her take control, the way he tasted-slightly sweet, with just the barest hint of cigarettes-, everything. When she drew back this time, she kept her eyes closed, half wondering if the visions that plagued her would show up behind her lids. They didn’t.

                “Are you alright?” He asked, and she opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her. She let the barest hint of a smile come to her lips.

                “I think I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit what are we like almost 50,000 words in and they're just now kissing? Talk about a slow burn...


	27. You're So Very Special, I Wish I Was Special

 

 

                Hancock rubbed his fingers over his lips for the hundredth time that night. He still couldn’t believe it had happened. Let alone happened twice. She had kissed him. He imagined the warmth of her again and had to stop himself before he got worked up; she slept next to him once more, and he really wanted to avoid another episode like the one two nights ago.

                He hadn’t let himself think about it at the time, but now, in the dark with her soft breathing the only noise he could hear, he couldn’t help it. Was she kissing him because she wanted him? Or simply because he was someone safe, someone who she could kiss, experiment with, until she could figure herself out once more? He tried to convince himself he didn’t care either way, but found that he really did. He wanted El; to protect her, help her, to love her. But he didn’t know if that was what she wanted. And he didn’t know if he could stand to kiss her, hold her, sleep next to her-if one day she would leave once she had gotten herself back.

                Again he replayed those moments in his mind, hoping he had done everything right. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t wanted her to feel forced, to panic. He had let her set the pace, let her decide how long and deep the kiss should be. And even though he had done so much more, had reached a level even he himself would call “depraved”, he felt as though this was his first kiss, giddy as a school kid.

                They had talked more afterwards, but had almost pretended as though the kiss hadn’t happened. He had told her he would stay with her again that night, any night, as long as she needed. The look of relief that had crossed her face was almost enough to break his heart.

                He told her about Cait, about his conversation with the woman. El only remembered snippets of her, mostly seen when the fog of chems was wearing off, before the next hit came. She seemed glad that Cait had escaped with them. She mentioned wanting to see her, but he had convinced her to rest for the day. She could make her rounds with him tomorrow.

                She had slowly, painfully told him a little more of what had happened to her. The name of the Raider boss who held her (Rex, the fucker called himself), the apartments they had turned into their hideout, a ways to the west on the other side of Diamond City. Rex was an antsy man, didn’t like to sit still for long. He had been looking to move into the eastern side of the ruins, using the Combat Zone as a temporary base, when El had escaped.

                It was incredible what she had retained from her captivity. Her mind, a brilliant strategy builder hadn’t just shut off, even so fucked up on Psycho and whatever other random drugs they had thrown in. No, it was always going, always planning, always thinking of the next step, even if that step was simply biding her time.

                “What did you do, y’know, before the war?” He had asked her as they lay, limbs intertwined under the sheets of the bed. She had put on her soft linen sleeping pants, but remained in the basic undershirt she wore. He could see the scars that crisscrossed her shoulders and arms, vivid against her pale skin. He made a point not to look at them.

                “I-I was an engineer.” She had said, her voice going soft. He didn’t like to bring up the past with her. It made her tense and uncomfortable typically. But he wanted to know why her mind worked the way it did.

                “We don’t have to talk about it-,” He had tried to counter, but she cut him off.

                “No. It’s-it’s okay.” She said, and she had shifted closer to him, so she was more or less speaking to his chest instead of his face.

                “I was contracted to work with the Army. I was a mechanical engineer, I went to CIT—where the Institute was—for school. I graduated right as the Chinese invaded Alaska. I had high marks and they needed people to work on weapons for them.” She explained, her demeanor relatively relaxed. He didn’t know much about the war that had turned the world into what it was, but he knew that what she spoke of, the event that drew her into it, that had been the straw that broke the Brahmin’s back.

                “That’s where I met Nate, m-my husband.” She said, and he found himself tensing at the mention. That was a topic they avoided sedulously. He knew that the man had been murdered, and that El had woken to a world without him, determined to find his killer and her child’s kidnapper. It had not panned out well for her.

                “He was a soldier. He tested a lot of the things I worked on. We…we were dumb and young and got married too fast.” She said, the words spilling out quickly as she spoke them. He had noted this as the first time she had ever said anything other than the most offhanded mention of his existence.

                “He had me stop working when we got married. Told me I didn’t have to, that his Army pay would take care of us. That he was getting bonuses for helping with special projects. We got a house in a decent neighborhood because of it. I didn’t complain. So many people had it so much worse.” She continued, strong in the telling now that she had started. He listened, had let her pull one of his arms up over her waist so that he held her loosely.

                “We had a baby because we thought it might fix things between us. We fought a lot. I didn’t like how controlling he was, he didn’t like how I wanted to live my life the way I wanted to. Shaun was supposed to bring us together. Something to bond over, something to tackle together.” She went on. He knew without her finishing what that had meant. But he let her continue.

                “Three months after I found out I was pregnant; he got deployed to fight in Alaska. They retook the state pretty fast after he got there, but he was made to stay for the clean-up. He finally came back when Shaun was two months old. In June. Just a couple months before the Great War. We were trying so hard.” She said, and a tear had slid down her cheek. He had wanted to wipe it away, but she beat him to it.

                “When I woke up, I-I knew how to shoot a gun, at least, theoretically. I knew how weapons worked and how to make them do what I wanted. But I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know how to fight; I didn’t know how fast things moved when you’re being shot at. I didn’t know what it felt like to kill someone.” She said, and she had forced herself to speak through her tears.

                “I wasted so much time just learning all that. A week after I woke up, I went to Concord. I hadn’t seen another living person since I was unfrozen, and the first person I saw tried very hard to kill me. That’s when I knew that I could know all I wanted to about how things worked, but it didn’t matter until I could put it into practice.” She had finished. He remembered tracing small circles on her back, trying to sooth her.

                “Here I was thinking you were some super-soldier, or some kinda international spy, like in the old Holotapes.” He had said, trying to joke. The jest had gotten a small hiccup of a laugh from her. They had stopped talking then, and she had buried her face in his chest. He had held her while she cried, just for a little while. Eventually she had fallen asleep, and he had tried to as well, but he found he couldn’t keep his eyes closed. The events of the day still playing over and over in his mind, culminating with the feel of her lips on his.

                Again he wondered if it was really him she wanted, or if it was just something done in the heat of the moment to see if she still could. He couldn’t imagine what she had been through, didn’t even want to try. He imagined though, if his agency had been taken away like that, if he had no choice in anything that happened to him, in anything he was able to feel, that he would also want to see if he was still capable of feeling things on his own.

                He sighed softly, feeling the weight of her against him. Whatever happened, however she wanted to play this, he was resigned to it. It might hurt in the end. He might have to watch her walk away, the feelings he had always being unrequited. But Hancock had always been about living in the moment. A chem high, a fuck, hell, even a good fight only lasted a small while in the grand scheme of things. That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it while it lasted. He would do the same with El, and if in the end she left, and took that happiness with her, then he would deal with it when it came.

                For now, he just wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I think I may have run into some continuity issues here with El's backstory. I went forward and fixed a few things in a couple of the first few chapters, to make it match up with what I have here. I think I had her tell Hancock at some point that she didn't know how to shoot a gun, but I changed it to her not knowing how to fight, that kind of thing. That's my bad, and comes from me having taken a rather long break when writing and changing how I wanted the story to go. So sorry if it bothers you! I hope you still read and still enjoy the story!


	28. I've Come To Talk To You Again

                El woke to an empty bed. Well-- almost empty. Next to her on the pillow was a crumpled note, laid atop Hancock's red coat.

                _Had to run a quick errand. Be back soon._

                The handwriting was angular and leaning, just what she had expected his handwriting to look like. She sat up, feeling heavy and sore, but whole. She hadn’t dreamed, at least nothing she could remember, and that was nice. The previous night had been awful; she really didn’t want to go back to that if she didn’t have to.

                She swung her legs out of the bed and stood, stretching languidly in the cool air. She caught a glimpse of her arms, the track marks and scars fading to muddy browns from the soft pinks they once were. Her stomach dropped at the sight and she glanced around, looking for her clothes. She spotted the pack in the corner and moved to it, taking out a long-sleeved flannel and a worn pair of black canvas pants. The backpack she had taken to the Combat Zone was there too, and she opened it, intent on finding her first aid kit to clean her forehead. The gash there wasn’t bad, but had bled the night before and she wanted to make sure it was cleaned.

                She pulled out the boxes of ammo and magazines she had shoved inside, rooting around past the bottlecap mine that KLEO had insisted on giving her. Her hand lighted on something that made her heart skip a beat. She swallowed and pulled out the syringe of Psycho she had looted off one of the Raiders the day before. It felt deceptively light in her fingers, the casing around the needle sheened with the grime of gunpowder and general nastiness.

                Her mouth went dry. She knew inside that she couldn’t take it, that it wouldn’t make a difference. Hancock would know, and she’d be back to square one, no trust from him, and no pity. She remembered the night before, the kisses she had so brazenly given him. How he had sat still and let her experiment. Could she throw all that away, just for one hit?

                Her mind reeled with all these thoughts as she sat back on her heels, the Psycho a deadly weight in her palm. The words kept forming in her mind, ‘Don’t. Can’t. Won’t.’ but the memory of the bliss that oblivion had brought her was strong. She didn’t think she wanted oblivion anymore. No. What she wanted was to kiss Hancock again. And again. But was that what he wanted?

                The door to the room swung open and she jumped, her heart jumping to her throat. Hancock was there, breathless with excitement.

                “Hey Sunshine, it’s time to-,” He started, his eyes lighting on the bed and, not finding her there, swinging around to find her crouched on the floor in the corner.

                “What are you-,” He started, and El felt herself stand, the Psycho clutched against her chest. She was to him in two strides and thrust the syringe into his hands, suddenly eager to get it away as though holding it for one more second would burn her. His eyes fell from hers to the chem in his hands, and went to hers again. She had thought it would be easy for him to hide emotions, with his eyes being deep black pools with no discernable iris or pupil. But she could still see the confusion there, warring with something else.

                “I found that on a R-Raider yesterday. I-I wasn’t gonna take it, but I…” She trailed off, not sure if he would believe her if she kept going. Shame burned her face and she tore her eyes from his to stare at the floor. There was a long silence in the room. El wished he would say something, anything. Even leaving would be better than his silent standing.

                There was a rustle from him as he put the Psycho into a pocket in his pants. And then she felt his hand under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. He had a crooked smirk on his face, and his eyes were locked on hers.

                “Don’t worry, Sunshine. It’s alright.” He said softly. She nodded slowly in response, and his hand dropped from her face. She shivered at the lack of his touch, but straightened up, stepping out of the door so he could come in. He strode to the bed and picked up his jacket, shaking it out before putting it back on. It made him look…complete.

                “Fahrenheit wants to see you. So does Cait. Think you’re up for it?” He asked, turning back to her. She swallowed her first response, which was ‘No, I want to spend the day alone with you in this room just being together,’ and instead settled for a nod. He smiled at her, a genuine expression that lit his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. Fuck-- she was in over her head with this one.

                “Alright then. Get dressed and let's go."

 

.....

 

 

 

                Hancock felt the weight of the Psycho in his pocket as he and El moved through the courtyard towards the Memory Den. Amari had Fahrenheit laid up there while she mended, much to the bodyguard’s distaste. El moved beside him, her hand soft and small in his. He could see the looks from the Neighborhood Watchmen, the drifters, and other various denizens of the town. He knew why; Hancock was not one to flaunt a relationship of any sort in front of people. Sure, some of them had seen him with the people he fucked, but mostly that was because he had chosen a fairly public place to do said fucking.

                He wondered if El saw the looks as well. Probably not. Her mind was always in a million other places. Could he blame her? After the moment between them in the Statehouse just now, he knew her mind must be going a mile a minute. He thought about reassuring her, telling her that the sheer fact that she had handed him the chem instead of hiding it was a testament to how far she had come. He thought about telling her all the ways chem addicts lied and hid their drugs, and generally just sucked at getting clean, but he had decided that the best course of action was to let it go. If he dwelt on it, then so would she. And El had enough on her mind.

                He kept her hand until they got into the Memory Den, letting it go to get the door for her. He wanted to recapture it, to keep the connection that made so many feelings run through him whenever it was made. But instead he moved ahead of her, leading her down the back stairs towards Amari’s lab. He was glad to see Fahrenheit sitting up in the small bed by the opposite wall of the room. She still looked eerily pale, her skin stark against the vibrant color of her hair.

                “Can’t keep you down long, can they Fahr?” He said, affecting a casual air as they entered. El stayed towards the door, her posture tensed. He knew the two hadn’t really gotten off on the right foot.

                “I keep telling the doctor that I feel fine. At least let me go back to the Statehouse, Hancock.” Fahrenheit argued, her voice cracked with fatigue. She hadn’t slept well; he could see it in the lines of her face.

                “Look, I might be Mayor of Goodneighbor, but Dr. Amari’s the end-all be-all in this lab. I got no say here, sister.” He said, but with a teasing tone. He heard Amari scoff behind him. The doctor had come to check El’s arm as Hancock spoke with Fahrenheit. He kept an ear on the outcome, but Amari seemed to be satisfied with how she had healed and made no demure about her continuing on without a cast.  

                “Brought someone to see ya’.” He said, gesturing behind him to El. Fahrenheit’s eyes shifted from him, to El, then back to him. She said nothing, so he waved El over. She came closer, moving slowly around the lab equipment and desks.

                “I-I’m glad you’re feeling better.” El said, and he was surprised to hear how strong her voice sounded. Fahrenheit shifted uncomfortably in the bed. The woman wasn’t used to being a situation as unequal as this.

                “Yeah, well I guess I got you to thank for that. And for getting this idiot out alive.” Fahrenheit spoke gruffly, though he knew she spoke the truth. He hoped El knew it too.

                “Ah I- yeah. I just did what I thought was right.” El said, very quietly. Fahrenheit huffed, but it wasn’t scornful. Instead, she smiled at El, a gesture she reserved for only rare occasions.

                “That’s right. Sometimes I forget we’re dealing with the Savior of the Commonwealth.” Fahrenheit said, her voice still light. El stiffened almost unperceptively. Fahrenheit hadn’t said it with any malice or ill intent, but he knew what that title made El think of. He stepped forward to say something, but El spoke first.

                “You tried to do the same thing, Fahrenheit. Doesn’t take a hero to do the right thing.” El said, and gave a small smile.

                “I hope you’re back to one hundred percent soon. I’ll let you rest now.” El said, with such a tone of caring that Hancock felt his brows rise. Fahrenheit nodded in farewell, and El turned, moving out into the hall.

                “Is she…okay?” Fahrenheit asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Hancock swiveled his head to look at the door, but he could hear El’s footsteps going up the stairs. She wasn’t near enough to hear them.

                “I don’t know Fahr.” He answered honestly. Fahrenheit’s sketchy brows knitted together in concentration.

                “Well fuck, Hancock. Go make sure she is.” Fahrenheit said, and gave him a dismissive gesture. He smiled at her and turned, hurrying after El’s receding footsteps.

 


	29. Told Me That I Was Nothing Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but I'm putting the next one up now and it's very long! Enjoy!

                El burst out of the Memory Den’s cramped darkness and into the light of the afternoon outside. Her skin crawled and she rubbed at her arms, desperate to stop the sensation from spreading. She knew Fahrenheit hadn’t meant anything by the title. That’s why she had fought so hard not to break down in front of her. But still, she couldn’t help the way her body betrayed her. It should be innocuous enough; Savior of the Commonwealth, Sole Survivor, Hero of the Wastes. These titles had been bandied about on Diamond City radio, and in Publick Occurrences all the time.

                But that had been the problem.

                Sole Survivor, that one had been her title ever since she crawled out of the vault, sure. But the others, they had only been bestowed on her after her defeat of the Institute. And not even a day after she had done that, she had been taken by the Raiders. Those titles were not hers to own. They were the tools that Rex and the other Raiders had used to taunt and control her. Letting snippets of Travis from Diamond City radio play in the dark of the night. Letting her hear how they celebrated someone who had fallen so far.

                And then they had stopped speaking of her. Slowly, as no one knew where she had gone, the news reports of her had stopped. They speculated at first. That she had died, that she had left the Commonwealth, that she had gone underground. But eventually, they had even stopped that. The broadcasts were filled with other random news stories. Still, they kept the radio on. Rex had used it against her, so effectively. She was nothing, he had said. Forgettable. Ownable.

                Her thoughts were threatening to drown her again. She pressed herself against the wall around the corner of the den, in an empty alleyway. She wanted to shut her eyes, close everything out, but even that had been taken from her. She knew if she shut her eyes, they would be there, taunting and touching, their faces burned into the very fabric of her mind.

                “Sunshine?” Hancock’s voice came, cautious from the mouth of the alley. She jerked, her head smacking the brick behind her, and she winced. He stepped closer to her, face a mask of apology.

                “Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, tilting his head to look at her. She shook her head, trying to dismiss it.

                “It’s—I’m fine.” She said, waving a hand vaguely. He leaned against the wall next to her, so close his jacket brushed her leg. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

                “I’m sorry about that.” He said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the Memory Den.

                “Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad she’s gonna be okay.” El said, wanting just to reach out and take his hand again, to reassure herself that he was there, solid and real. Instead, she stayed still, trying to force herself to concentrate on what he was saying, not the memories that ebbed towards the forefront of her mind.

                “I know you don’t like when people call you—that. She didn’t mean-,” He started, but she cut him off.

                “I know she didn’t mean it, Hancock. It’s fine. I don’t really wanna think about it anymore.” She said, trying to thwart any further attempts for him to apologize. He nodded next to her, the tricorn hat he always wore bobbing as he did. She was glad to see he had reclaimed it. It suited him well.

                “Cait wants to see you too. Though I think she wants to get you drunk.” He said, sounding unsure. El raised a brow at him, curious.

                “She wanted to meet in the Third Rail. Said she owed you a couple drinks, and you owed her some as well.” He said, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he spoke. She let a small smile come to her face too.

                “Will you come?” She asked him softly. He looked at her, confused.

                “Are you kidding? Miss a chance for a drink after the last couple days? Hell yeah I’m coming.” He said, chucking her playfully on the arm. He turned to go, starting to walk towards the Rail, but she reached out, grabbing his arm. He turned to face her, countenance suddenly serious.

                “Hancock, if I- If I don’t handle it well, can you…-,” She trailed off, hoping he understood what she was saying. He smiled softly at her, and let his hand come to her chin, his thumb tracing her jawline, sending shivers of electricity through her.

                “Don’t worry, Sunshine. I got ya’ covered.” He said, and taking her hand once more, led her towards the bar.


	30. Please, Don't Ask Me How I've Been

                It turned out that Cait had meant it when she said she wanted to get El drunk. The woman was a tank, ordering shot after shot for both of them, getting drunk enough to rival him on his better days. He was surprised to see how long it took for El to start getting tipsy. He had expected with her small frame-- and the fact that she hadn’t drank much in the past few months at least-- that she would tap out quite soon. But her tolerance for alcohol was surprisingly high.

                It was actually quite the fun night. Cait and El sedulously avoided speaking about anything pertaining to the Combat Zone, with the only mention of what they had been through being in a toast Cait had given at the beginning of the night.

                “To Ella Carson, one bad-ass motherfucker.” Cait had said. Short, sweet, and best of all, a title that El seemed to favor. After that, they had spoken mostly of inconsequent things. El’s preference of weapon, Cait’s strange accent, and over the course of the night, as they devolved into drunker and drunker individuals, had taken up to singing with Magnolia loudly and quite out of tune.

                It was the most carefree and happy he had seen El since she had been here. He tried not to let himself think about the fact that she had to be raging drunk to be in that mindset, instead, choosing to think of it as a start. If she could be this carefree and happy when drunk, then maybe it held out hope for her sober self.

                Despite the raucous enjoyment the two seemed to be sharing, Hancock kept a wary eye on El. He knew how easily her mood could turn. One thing said in jest or in passing could easily trigger a memory that could cascade down into a full blown panic attack. She had asked him to keep an eye on her, trusting that he could help her if she needed it. He wouldn’t let her down.

                She hadn’t seemed to need him though. He watched her face intently whenever she and Cait spoke, and the interest and general happiness there seemed genuine. She wasn’t putting up a façade now, pretending to be enjoying herself when really she wanted to be anywhere else. He thought maybe, just maybe, she just really wanted to not care about anything at all. And while he usually thought of chems or alcohol as the best way to achieve this, he still felt a small qualm come over him at the thought that she needed it to get there.

                Eventually though, El’s head began to droop, and he could tell it was time to get her back to the Statehouse and into bed. Cait was slowing down too, her last drink sitting empty on the counter of the bar. Hancock stood, taking El by the arm gently.

                “Charlie, make sure Cait gets to the room in the back safely. Put this on my tab.” He said, gesturing to the mess of the counter. The Mr. Handy behind the bar made an indeterminate noise, but acquiesced nonetheless.

                “C’mon Sunshine. Time to get ya’ back.” He said, standing El up and making sure she was stable before he started to lead her towards the stairs. She smiled up at him, eyes glossy with fatigue and drink.

                “B-back where? I wanna stay wi’ Cait.” She slurred, turning in his grip towards the bar, only to see Charlie grabbing the help of one of the more sober patrons to help guide the fighter towards the VIP room, where there was at least a couch for her to pass out on.

                “Nah, I’m gonna take you back and put you to bed. You’re gonna have a killer headache in the morning, y’know?” He asked her lightly, helping her navigate the steps. She leaned heavily on him, and he tried very hard not to think of how boneless and warm she felt in his hands.

                “Put me to b-bed, huh?” She said, though under her breath. She was concentrating intensely on her feet, moving them with his as they finally reached the top step of the bar. In retrospect, maybe a drinking establishment at the bottom of an old subway station was not the best of ideas.

                Ham opened the door for them, and Hancock felt the cool night air rush against his cheeks. El stood a little straighter, obviously feeling it as well. It was a temporary restorative, however, and by the time they hit the Statehouse, she was stumbling and leaned against him again. She laughed as her foot caught the doorjamb to the building, almost sending her flat on her face. He caught her, however, pulling her back towards him, so her body came pressed against his momentarily.

                “Oops.” She murmured, her eyes meeting his in the dim light of the entryway. He cleared his throat and maneuvered her inside, conscious of the heat that had begun to burn in his cheeks. It took a few more minutes of stumbling and tripping before they made it to the room. He let her go, turning to close the door behind him. When he turned back, she was standing there, very close, her eyes half lidded. She had the oddest of expressions on her face.

                “Time for bed, Sunshine.” He said thickly. This wasn’t anything. It couldn’t be. She was drunk, didn’t know what she was doing to him. She couldn’t know.

                “A-are you gonna come too?” She asked, her eyes drifting over him in a way that send blood surging south. He cleared his throat.

                “I think I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. I don’t wanna wake up in a pool of your puke tomorrow, y’know?” He said, trying to diffuse the situation. El laughed, a hand coming up and wiping the side of her face sloppily. She stepped towards him, coming so close he could smell the alcohol on her breath. His heart hammered in his chest at the sight of her. Even drunk as hell and half asleep she was beautiful. Some of her hair had come loose from her ponytail, spilling in soft tendrils down her neck. He wanted to touch it, to twirl it in his fingers.

                “What if I h-have a nightmare?” She said, the only sign of her intoxication the slight hesitancy in her sentences and her slightly unfocused eyes. She reached out and grasped his coat, coming the last few inches of space to press herself against him. He closed his eyes briefly. Fuck.

                “I’ll be right there, on the flo-,” He started, but El cut him off with a kiss, her mouth warm and soft on his. He grasped her arms and pulled her away and he swore it was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

                “Y-you don’t wanna kiss me?” She slurred, her eyes hurt. He swallowed, trying to work his vocal cords again. Fuck he wasn’t even drunk and his legs were like jelly.

                “No, that’s not- I do El it’s just-,” He stammered, and she kissed him again, heedless of his grip on her arms. He could taste the whiskey on her breath and knew he needed to stop this. He pulled her away again, lips still tingling with the feel of her.

                “C’mon, Hancock. Jus’-just fuck me okay?” She said, and he could have sworn his heart stopped. She was still trying to get at him, her hands fighting uselessly against his. He took a deep breath, pushing her a little farther away.

                “El. That’s not what you want.” He said firmly, almost as though he was trying to convince himself of that fact. She pouted at him, her bottom lip poking out pink and swollen. Fuck he wanted to take it in his mouth again, to kiss her, taste her, take her. But he knew that was not what she needed right now.

                “N-no, it is. I pr-promise. I wan’ it. I wan’ you.” She said, her speech slurring more as the emotion rose in her. He shook his head, pushing her towards the bed.

                “You ain’t gonna remember this tomorrow, sister. And if this ever happens,-“he gestured between them, still moving her backwards, “-I want you to remember it.” He said, hoping very strongly that she _would_ forget this had happened tomorrow.  She sank to the bed as her legs hit it, the look on her face one of confused betrayal. He told himself that it was the alcohol. This wasn’t what she wanted. Not really. She would be upset until she woke up the next day. Then everything would be back to normal.

                “Y-you wanna fuck me?” She asked, her voice pitched up at the question. He screwed his eyes shut, then opened them and leaned her back on the bed, beginning to remove her boots. She watched him, limp and boneless as he worked. When he finished, he knelt by her head, eyes meeting hers. The green of them seemed almost black in the dim light. They were starting to flutter, the pull of sleep beginning to win the fight.

                “No, Sunshine. I don’t wanna fuck you.” He answered, just as her eyes closed and her breathing changed, letting him know she was safe in the unconscious, dreamless stupor of drunken sleep.

                “I want so much more than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters I've written so far. I really love the last scene here.


	31. Somewhere Between Love and Abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the gap in updates. It has been a WEEK. Glad it's over and we are back with more El and Hancock!

                El jerked awake, the memory of her dream still hot on her skin. Her heart was racing, and she had to consciously try to control her breathing. Her head swam with a pounding headache, and her stomach rolled, threatening to make her lose the contents of it, but for once, it wasn’t from a nightmare. No, this dream had been something else-- something better. She knew it at once as she moved; feeling the slick heat between her legs, the warmth that still ebbed there. She swallowed and tried to sit up. That was a mistake.

                “Oh my god.” She muttered, her hand going to her face automatically, as though she could stop the pain by applying pressure. It didn’t work.

                “I figured you’d have a nasty hangover,” came Hancock’s voice from across the room. He was sitting in a chair, legs crossed in front of him, leaned back with his jacket draped across him. He sat up, watching her with interest. El felt the tingle of his hands on her flesh. Had it only been a dream? Or had they actually…

                “You passed out before I could get any water into you. But I brought some. It’s there on the table with some Buffout. You should probably take it if you don’t wanna spend the day feeling miserable.” He said, his eyes still on her. She saw that he had indeed brought the water and the pain reliever and they sat on the table beside the bed. She also saw that while her boots had been removed, she was still wearing the same clothes from the night before. She ran a hand over her lips. They were sensitive where she touched them.

                “Hancock, did we--,” she trailed off, her voice pitched low in embarrassment. He looked at her with the strangest expression on his face, and then smirked.

                “We didn’t do anything, Sunshine. Cait got you so wasted you barely made it into the bed before you were snoring like it was your job.” He said, and El felt relief flood her veins. Relief and something else, was it—disappointment?

                “Anyways, I didn’t wanna leave in case you puked and tried to asphyxiate or something. Also didn’t wanna wake up covered in vomit. So I slept over here,” he explained. El chuckled, taking the water in one hand and the pills in the other and tossing them in her mouth. She drank slowly, savoring the coolness of the water. Her tongue felt thick and her mouth had a disgusting sticky quality to it. She remembered why she didn’t drink much now.

                “I see,” she answered. Her head throbbed, and snippets of her dream kept coming back to her. No. It had definitely not been a nightmare. But aside from random flashes of emotions and feelings, she couldn’t catch what had happened in it. One thing was for sure—she had awoken to the last waves of pleasure ebbing from her. She had not felt a heat like that since before she had been frozen.

                She smiled inwardly as her hungover brain came to the realization. It was good news, right? It meant that she was moving forward. It meant that she wasn’t as broken as she had thought she was.

                “Well don’t take this the wrong way, Sunshine, but you look like you went 10 rounds with a pack of mole-rats—and it looks like they won.” He said, standing and pulling his jacket on. She knew he was right; she felt like death warmed over. And she noted, with a wrinkled nose that she didn’t smell much better than death either.

                “Yeah, I think I’ll clean up. Take a bath.” She said, watching as he moved towards the door. He gave her a smile, and his eyes held the same odd expression that he had been giving her since she awoke. She cocked a brow at him, but he just nodded, leaving her to her thoughts once more.

 

 

.....

 

 

 

                Four days.

                That was all that was left of the time limit he had given El at the beginning of this whole thing. A month—for her arm to heal, and for her to decide if she wanted, truly wanted, to not live anymore. Well, her arm had healed and she was still here. He tried to take that as a good sign. But the events of the past few days weighed on his mind. Their conversation about her not knowing if she would ever feel the same again sent a shiver of doubt through him whenever he thought she might be getting to a better place.

                He knew that it wasn’t magic. That one day she wouldn’t wake up and be all better, as long as he was there. He knew the months of healing she would have to go through, maybe years. He of all people would understand that—hell, he still had shit that he didn’t deal with the right way. Instead choosing to drown it in alcohol, chems, or a willing partner.

                When he thought about El though, and how she would go on after this month was up, he couldn’t help envisioning himself there with her. Whether she chose to stay in Goodneighbor or not, he always pictured himself by her side. She had never said anything to him about staying around him when the month was up; in fact, the time limit was something they tried very hard not to talk about at all. He knew it was because—for him at least—this time was precious. It was something he could share with her and her alone. It was a bulwark for all the shit out in the Wasteland. As long as they were there and together, nothing else mattered.

                But was that how she saw it? Again he wondered if the only reason she had grown so close to him was because he had given her no other choice. Was he just a safe body, someone near to her that wouldn’t hurt her as the Raiders had for so long? He tried to be objective, not think about the night before, the look in her eyes, even through the drunken haze.

                She made it impossible to be objective, however. He had never once felt this way about anyone before. Sure, he had gotten close, a few people over the years that he had cared greatly for, and who had cost him something in the end. But never like El. He was tangled up in her like no one else. Even to the point that he found himself not caring if in the end, she left. It would hurt—a lot. Hell, it might kill him. But to have felt her lips on his, to have held her as she slept… Those were memories that he would keep forever, in the secret parts of him that no one else saw.

                She was a high that he had never found with any chem, even the one that had turned him into the ghoul he was today. He wondered vaguely about karma, and whether it had been him taking that one big hit that had lead him to this, lead him to her. If it was, then he would do it again and again as long as it meant she was in his life.

                But none of that would matter if in four days, she decided to take him up on his offer of help. Decided to ask him to give her the drugs that could end her life.

                He knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

 


	32. If I Could Trade Mistakes For Sheep...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick chapter with some explanation to El about Logan.

               “Who is LH?” El asked, watching Hancock’s face intently as they sat across from each other in his office. The sun was sinking, casting shadows across the floor and sparking off the dust motes that seemed to constantly fill the air. If he was surprised about her asking his face didn’t show it. She hadn’t expected him to react; no, he was too good for that kind of thing. But then again, she hadn’t been trying to catch him in anything. She just genuinely wanted to know.

                “Where did you hear that?” He asked casually. She gave a small shrug, taking a sip of the water in her hand.

                “It was on the note that was left on Denny’s body.” She answered, forcing the words past the thickness in her throat. She tried not to remember the sight of the drifter’s corpse, pale and lifeless, laid out on Daisy’s counter.

                “Ah. Yeah.” Hancock spoke softly. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He deftly pulled one out between his teeth, reaching with his other hand to find his lighter. El found herself mesmerized by the ease at which he lit the thing. Though lately she found herself mesmerized by almost anything the man did.

                “He’s the one that killed Denny, right?” She asked, shifting her gaze from him to the can of water in her hand.

                “Probably. He’s shitty enough to do that, no doubt.” Hancock answered, letting smoke plume gently from his nose. He rarely smoked in front of her. She knew it was because he didn’t want to bother her, to risk triggering any memories with it. But sometimes when he was deep in thought, he forgot.

                “He ain’t anyone you gotta worry about, Sunshine.” He said, very obviously trying to dismiss the topic. El looked sharply at him.

                “He’s the reason you went to the Combat Zone. The reason I had to…,” She trailed off, reevaluating, “-He seems like someone I should worry about, that’s all.” She said, voice pitched low. Hancock sighed, though more in resignation than in frustration. He looked at her, an expression of concern set on his face.

                “He’s just some Gunner asshole. You know how they can be. Think they’re bigshots ‘cause they can find a whole set of combat armor. He’s been a pain in my side for a long time.” He said, pausing to take a drag off the cigarette. El was quiet, letting him continue.

                “Rolled in just after I had taken over as mayor here. Wanted me to just let him use Goodneighbor as another Gunner hideout. You know how it is in the Ruins. You get a place like the kind I like to run and it tends to draw attention. And not always the right type of attention.” He said. El nodded. She remembered Quincy; how the Minutemen had been defeated there, by Gunners. How she had come in and killed them all. Revenge for her friend Preston Garvey.

                “I told him to get lost. But I had just staged a coup here. What people were left would fight for me, sure. But I didn’t want them to have to do that. Not after everything they had been through. I knew that I was in a bad bargaining position. Logan Hall knew it too.” He said. So that was it. Logan Hall. LH.

                “I told him he couldn’t stay here, but if he needed Goodneighbor’s…services… we’d be here. Hardest damned thing I ever had to do. I had just gotten done taking care of Vic, the asshole who had run this place like a dictatorship. I had just vowed never to let anything like that happen again, and what the fuck was I doing but setting Goodneighbor up for more bullshit.” He said, the words coming out harsh. El listened intently, watching as he came to sit on the adjacent couch.

                “He’s come calling a couple times. Mostly for a place to lay low for a bit, or asking for a couple guys to help him with a job. This was the first time he’s ever wanted something so ambitious—and the first time he’s ever killed one of my people.” He finished, and the tremble of anger in his voice was palpable. El tried to ignore the feeling of unease she had as he spoke. She couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t telling her the whole thing. But maybe that was for the best.

                “Why did he want the Combat Zone cleared out?” She asked after a while. Hancock snubbed out the remainder of his cigarette in an ashtray on the table in front of them. He shrugged, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. He wasn’t wearing his hat, and she could see the bold curve of his skull in the dying light.

                “Damned if I know, Sunshine. Eliminate competition? A new place to hole up? Could be anything with him. What I do know is that it’s done, and if I see him again I’m gonna tell him to fuck off. I don’t need him coming around anymore, especially if it’s gonna end with one of the people I’m supposed to protect getting killed.” He said before lapsing once more into silence. Now El knew there was something up. Why would Hancock just tell him to fuck off instead of killing the man if he saw him again? From what she knew of Hancock--the ruthlessness with which he had killed Vic and his gang-- she didn’t take him for someone merciful.

                In the end, she elected to not bring it up. Hancock probably had his reasons, and she’d be damned if she wanted to meddle in them. Not to mention the subject was not a pleasant one for her. Whatever Logan Hall wanted with the Combat Zone, it didn’t matter to her. If she never saw that place again, it would be too soon.

                “You eat yet?” He asked, knowing full well that she hadn’t. It seemed to be his way of letting her choose whether she wanted to eat or not. Even if he had been with her all day, he still asked the same question. She smiled a bit at the thought.

                “Not yet. Got anything in mind?” She said, sitting forward and stretching a bit. He watched her intently, letting his arms fall to cross over his chest. It was the same look he had borne all day; something unreadable, almost too intimate, like she should look away.

                “Let’s go see what we can rustle up, huh?” and he stood, holding out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation and stood, following him out, hands still linked.

 

 


	33. The Potential of You and Me

 

                El woke the next morning to the bed empty and her thighs slick again. The dream that played behind her lids now was much more clear and vivid than it had been before. Hancock’s lips playing down her neck, his hands moving from her jaw and down her body, until the big, rough heat of them rested between her legs…

                “Am I interruptin’ something, darlin’?” Came Cait’s voice from the other side of the room. El jumped, her heart suddenly in her throat. In her distracted waking state she hadn’t bothered to look around to see the woman sitting in the corner of the room. El sat up, suddenly self-conscious.

                “What the fuck? What are you doing here?” She asked, pulling the sheet up to hide. She was fully clothed, but under the piercing stare she felt more than naked.

                “Waitin’ for ya' to wake up, Sleepin’ Beauty. Your man wanted me to pal around with ya' for the day, and I didn’t want ta' have ta' hunt ya' down later.” Cait answered with such an air of nonchalance that El almost felt as though this was a totally normal thing to do.

                “You can’t just watch people sleep, Cait. It’s weird.” El said, slowly coming back to herself. Cait shrugged in dismissal.

                “I’m just that bit out o’ touch with what’s weird, little bird. But that doesn’t seem ta’ matter much now, does it?” She asked and stood, coming to stand by the bed, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

                “So what are we doin’ today?” Cait spoke, short and clipped, but not harshly. El was aware that Cait was probably high; it was her almost permanent state of being. But Cait was a high functioning addict. In fact, she pretty much needed the stuff to do anything. Amari had offered to help her quit, but she had outright refused, telling the woman she would ask for the help when she wanted to stop, if that ever happened.

                “Um, I’m not sure.” El answered, swinging her legs out of the bed and moving to the corner of the room where she kept her things. She began rifling through the bag for something relatively clean to wear.

                “Thought ya' might say that. Your man said if ya’ didn’t know what it was you wanted ta’ do, we should go up to one of the rooftops and practice shootin’. Been a while since I had my hands on anything that went “ _bang_ ”.” Cait said, making a gun with her pointer and thumb fingers and pretending to shoot it.

                “He’s not my man.” El said defensively, pulling out a shirt from the bag and balling it in the crook of her arm.

                “And that sounds fine. We can do that.” She followed quickly, seeing Cait’s brow raise.

                “Alright. Meet ya' on the roof in 15 then, darlin’.” She said, and left El to change.

 

 

                To her surprise, El found the roof of the warehouse she and Hancock had stargazed on to be set up with a sort of makeshift shooting range. There was a small table near the stairs for weapons and ammunition, and at the other end of the roof sat a line of bottles and tin cans, all in a row on the ledge. There was a crate full of different objects; things to replace the items they shot. Cait was there, leaned against a dilapidated air conditioning vent.

                “So what will we be shootin’ today?” She asked as El approached. The day was bright, fairly warm. Sun glinted off the glass of the bottles at the roof edge. El put down her pack, reaching in and pulling out her ammunition. She placed the .10mm magazines carefully on the table, before pulling the gun from the small of her back.

                “Just this. I figure it’s small, easy to start with.” She answered. Cait smirked and raised her brow.

                “I said it’s been a while since I had my hands on a gun, darlin’, not that it was my first time.” Cait retorted. Now it was El’s turn to smirk.

                “And if you do alright with this maybe we will move to something more exciting. But I don’t need you shooting your eye out or anything.” She said, checking the slide of the weapon before carefully loading it. Cait watched her hands move, focused. El had been watching her since she had come up here. If she had to admit it, she was a little worried about letting someone so dependent on drugs shoot a gun. But Cait’s eyes were clear, and her hands were steady. El tried not to think about how addicted she had to be for that to happen.

                “When you do shoot, do you like pistols, shotguns, rifles…?” El asked, turning the weapon towards Cait and watching as she took it. Her hands were calloused, rough and scarred from years of fighting. El thought that it wouldn’t really matter if Cait could shoot a gun or not; if the woman wanted you dead, you’d be dead.

                “Anything that’ll keep fuckers from shootin’ me first.” She answered easily. El blinked at this response, but nodded.

                “Well, okay. See if you can shoot anything down there.” El said, watching as Cait lined up the bottles in her sights. She squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

                “What the-, did ya’ give me a defective gun, little bird?” Cait asked sharply, looking at the gun dubiously. El laughed.

                “No. You need to take the safety off. It’s the little switch on the side. Keeps it from going off when you don’t want to.” El said and watched as Cait turned the gun over in her hands and found the switch. She flipped it and lined the shot up again. There was a deafening crack as the gun went off, and a bottle at the end of the roof shattered into dust.

                “Ah ha! I told ya’ I could shoot things.” Cait remarked triumphantly. El smiled, watching as she lined up another shot. This one went wide, not hitting anything.

                “Beginners luck I guess?” El said, darting her eyes away as Cait turned a menacing glare on her.

                The day passed leisurely enough, the two of them making a good time of practicing their shots. Cait was alright, not great, but good enough not to die immediately. They had gone through quite a bit of ammunition when Cait handed the pistol back to her, rubbing her wrist as El took the weapon.

                “I think I’ll always prefer the feelin’ of my fist meeting flesh to that.” She said, gesturing to the weapon El held. The sun was setting fast, and El realized for the first time that day that she had no idea where Hancock was. Cait hadn’t mentioned anything aside from the fact they were hanging out alone today. She felt a qualm of unease go through her at the thought; the last time she didn’t know where Hancock was, she had to go and rescue him.

                “Don’t you be worryin’ about your man there darlin’. He’s got a few _mayoral duties_ to be attendin’ to today, that’s why he told me to entertain ya’.” Cait said, startling El as she very clearly read what was going on in her mind. Cait laughed at her expression, clapping El on the shoulder.

                “It’s right obvious when you’re thinkin’ about him, little bird.” She said. El squirmed surreptitiously out of Cait’s touch.

                “He’s not-It’s not like that.” El said, clearing the chamber of the weapon and unloading it, her eyes glued to what she was doing.

                “Oh it’s not, is it? Would be news to Goodneighbor if it wasn’t.” Cait retorted, and El stiffened. Cait chuckled.

                “Don’t worry too much about it, darlin’. Can’t go about sharin’ a bed with a man, and him walkin’ around lookin’ at you like you hung the moon and not expect a few rumors to go flyin’. Don’t worry—they’re mostly harmless.” Cait teased. El swallowed hard, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest.

                “He’s just being nice. It’s not like that at all. We’re just…,” El trailed off, suddenly not sure what to say. What were they? Friends? Not lovers, no, but she wasn’t sure friends was right either.

                “ _Nice_ is lettin’ ya’ crash here for free. Nice is telling ya’ not to off yourself a time or two, not following you around and trying for a whole month to convince ya’ not to do it.” Cait said, and El looked at her, serious.

                “Ain’t much of a secret, darlin’. For what it’s worth, I don’t think ya’ should either. But I’m not so sure you care much what I think on that subject.” She continued. El’s brows drew together, her mind racing. Sure, she had thought about it. For fuck’s sake she had kissed him, dreamed about him. Had he heard the rumors? He had to have. He was the Mayor of Goodneighbor. He knew all that happened in the town. Or did he?

                “You can’t be tellin’ me you haven’t seen the way he looks at ya’? It’s plain to see the man is right pining for ya’. Probably too worried about scarin’ ya’ away to do anything about it though.” Cait said, and with a quick wink, turned towards the door to the stairs, leaving El standing alone on the rooftop, the pistol still warm in her hands.


	34. The Dog Days Are Over

                The VIP lounge of the Rail usually drew in the type of crowd that left the kind of mess one didn’t want to touch with their bare hands. Today had been no exception. Hancock had spoken to Charlie, letting him know that the room was closed until further notice, and that if anyone asked about it, they could be directed to the Rexford, or a nice alley for all he cared.

                He was rearranging, moving the furniture to accommodate the large piece Daisy had coming for him. He wasn’t sure how big it was going to be, so he needed to make sure there was room. It was unfortunate that this was the only place he had to store it; he wasn’t looking forward to El coming down here and possibly remembering him in his compromising position.

                He thought back, thinking about her face as she had seen him, buried in one of the drifters he knew was typically good for a quick fuck. She had been mortified, and he had thought at the time it was because she had some kind of crush on him. How little he knew back then. That had been the last time he had partaken in that particular sin of the flesh. He had been too focused on her, too caught up in learning about her, in knowing her, in being with her to think of it much-- aside from when he woke in the night, sweating and feeling the ache of his cock against the fabric of his pants.

                The dreams were coming more frequently and he almost hated himself for it. Ever since that night when she had pressed herself to him, asked him to fuck her, he hadn’t been able to get the thought of it out of his mind. He felt disgusting. Knowing all that she had been through-- and yet his body betrayed his mind. He could almost feel her when he woke, still hot on his skin, still full in his hands.

                He wiped his palms against his thighs, trying to dry the sweat that had gathered there. Maybe he just needed to take care of himself. Fist his cock and think of her and get all the frustration out. Maybe that would help. But the guilt he felt at using her, even the thought of her, for that purpose told him that wasn’t an option.

                He heard the door open behind him. The footsteps were heavy, booted. He thought it might be MacCready, the mercenary sniper who liked to hole up here when he was in town. He turned to tell the man to amscray; that he needed the Lounge right now.

                “Surprise surprise.” a voice said as he turned, and he met Logan Hall's eye that held a coldness that sent a shiver down his spine. Hancock’s mind went into overdrive; he was unarmed, his shotgun sitting on his desk in the Statehouse. Logan smirked, watching him.

                “Don’t worry, John. I ain’t here to cause trouble.” Logan’s gruff voice spoke, sounding so much louder in the Lounge than it should have.

                “What are you here for? And speaking of that, how’d you even get in here?” Hancock asked, trying to put on an air of casual disagreeableness. Logan chuckled.

                “All I needed was a pair of sunglasses and no one looked at me a second time. Great security you got, John.” He answered. Hancock cursed under his breath. Goodneighbor was open to anyone who needed a place to go; of course his guards wouldn’t have looked twice. Especially since Logan had forgone his usual combat armor for some jeans and a ragged plaid shirt.

                “Still didn’t answer why you’re here. I cleared out the Combat Zone, Logan. I ain’t doing you any more favors.” Hancock said, and was very happy to hear the confidence his voice held. Logan took a step forward, not menacing, but definitely trying to intimidate.

                “Well I heard it wasn’t you that cleared the Combat Zone. I heard you got an ace in the hole. I heard you got the Sole Survivor.” He said. Hancock’s blood froze in his veins. What could Logan want with El? And how could he have heard anything about her being here?

                “What’s it to you?” Hancock asked, letting the ice seep into his voice. Logan’s eyes widened slightly.

                “So it’s true then? She’s here?” He asked. Hancock shook his head.

                “What the fuck do you want, Logan? Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you right now?” Hancock spit. Logan flashed his teeth in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.        

                “I know you’ve always been stupid, John. Ever since we were kids you’ve always stood up for the little guy, always done things the hard way when there are so many other, easier ways to get to the top.” He said. Hancock fought the urge to roll his eyes.

                “But you ain’t that stupid. I don’t think you should put a bullet in me just yet. Not till you hear what I got to say.”

                “Unless it’s that you’ve decided to try your luck down in the Capitol Wasteland, I don’t think I wanna hear it.” Hancock said, and made to go back to clearing the room. Logan stepped forward again, bringing the two within arm’s length of each other.

                “Twenty thousand caps.” He said. Hancock raised a brow at him, unsure if he heard him right.

                “That girl, the “ _Sole Survivor_ ”, she’s worth a pretty penny to someone. Some Raider out in the Ruins is offering twenty thousand caps to the person that brings her to him.” Logan said, and he affected to look at something under his fingernail. Hancock’s legs felt suddenly like they were turned to jello. The Raider who had taken El? He was offering that to anyone who would bring her back?

                “Can’t believe everything you hear, Logan. Especially from a Raider. You think there’s a Raider out in those Ruins who can scrape together a thousand caps, let alone _twenty thousand?”_ He asked, actually calming himself down with the words. He was right. There was no way a Raider could-

                “He’s good for it. Sells slaves. Trades quite lucratively with Nuka-World. You heard of it? Raider settlement out west. Doesn’t want to trade her though. Least not what I hear.” Logan said. Hancock heard enough.

                “You’re gonna leave. You’re never gonna step foot back through my door again, Logan Hall. History be damned, I’ll put a bullet in your skull faster than you can say ‘Please John, don’t’.” Hancock said, voice low in his throat. Something flashed through Logan’s eyes. Not fear-- no. Concern maybe? Doubt?

                “If it ain’t me, Hancock, some other motherfucker will be through here trying to collect on that bounty, you can be sure of that.” He said, and with one last half-smile, he turned and left the Lounge. Hancock stared after him for a moment, his mind running at lightning speeds. Could he be telling the truth? Was it worth it to assume he was, to let El know what had happened, to have her possibly panic, to not feel safe again? Was it more worth it to ignore it, to take it for what it seemed to be; hearsay from a bunch of lowlife Raiders?

                In the end, Hancock decided he would tell Fahrenheit about it; let the Neighborhood Watch know they needed to be on their toes. There was no use in worrying El about it just yet. And if he saw Logan’s face darken his doorstep again, he would put a bullet in the man’s head. That was that. It didn’t matter how close they had been as kids. If he so much as mentioned El again in his presence, that would be it.

                Restless, he couldn’t focus on clearing the rest of the room. He would ask Charlie to take care of it. The robot hated him anyways, what was one more tick mark on that list? With a quick word to the Mr. Handy, he darted up the stairs of the bar, in search of somewhere to wash off the lingering feeling of distaste that crawled up his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm kind of torn about how I wrote this scene. I really want to convey that Hancock knows Logan, that they go way back, and that's the only reason he has been able to get away with what he has to this point. But I'm worried that it came across as Hancock being careless, that he is ignoring Logan's warning about the bounty on El's head. He's not ignoring it, but he is worried about scaring El back into another suicide attempt, or even just making her feel unsafe again. I just wanted to explain this chapter. I wrote it because I wanted a way to introduce the bounty and the idea that Rex is still looking for El, but I feel like it might come off as sloppy or not well executed. I may come back and tweak this one.


	35. Like Real People Do

                El sat on the bed in her room, her knees drawn up to her chest. She ran over the day in her mind, happy to find that she could delve into her own thoughts once more without the specter of vile memories threatening to spill over. She knew they were still there, of course, but they no longer held her captive. They no longer forced her to be constantly moving, constantly working to forget.

                She kept going over what Cait had said on the rooftop. Could the whole town really be thinking that she and Hancock were an item? She had been way too distracted most of the time to notice, what with one thing and another. Though she supposed that the seemingly brave and gallant way she had charged out to the Combat Zone to rescue him might seem suspect. And Hancock did tend to hold her hand whenever they walked together….

                But that didn’t mean anything. Surely Hancock had been around other women, had shown them affection in public. And Fahrenheit had run off after him before El had even woken up! No. It just didn’t make sense that someone as charming and debonair as Hancock would be interested in the scarred and broken person she was living as. At least not past the fleeting interest of someone taking care of a sick animal or something.

                Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just a simple friendship the two had. Whether it was Cait’s words worming their way into her mind, or the dreams she had about him, or simply the way he had looked at her after she had kissed him the night she had come back from the Combat Zone, her body pressed against him…

                Wait. That wasn’t right. Those kisses had been careful, space left between them as a buffer in case she panicked. Her body had been rigid, held straight as she leaned into the kiss. But no, what she was remembering was something different. Flashes of memory sparked through her mind. She was pressed against him, his arms holding her up, fingers digging into the flesh of her arms.

                She remembered the feeling of him, how warm and solid he had been. She remembered the kiss; carefree and easily given. He had kissed her back, but not for long.

                And then it hit her, all at once. The night with Cait in the Third Rail. She had been stone cold drunk, falling over herself and laughing as Hancock struggled to drag her back to the Statehouse.

                Her cheeks flamed as she remembered snippets of her drunken requests. She had asked him to fuck her. The memory made her slightly uneasy at how nonchalant she had been about it. The drinks had made her worries seem to fade away, and apparently her inhibitions as well.

                “ _If this is gonna happen, I want you to remember it.”_ Hancock’s words floated through her mind, sending a shiver up her spine. He had said that, after pulling her off of him. She hadn’t been rejected, no. He had known that had she woken up next to him, with no memory and the smell and feel of him on her that she would panic; and he had been right.

                El shifted on the bed, feeling at once embarrassed at her behavior, as well as heartened. Maybe Hancock really did want something more than friendship with her. Could she handle that? Could she give him what he wanted? In her dreams she could. But as she tried to think about it happening in her waking life, she felt the familiar feel of tightness in her chest, the welling up of emotions that spilled over right before she spiraled into a panic attack.

                She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself again. She let her mind wander back to that night once more; trying to remember any other small detail she had missed. She really wished she had been more sober, could remember more of the feeling of his lips on hers.

                “ _I want so much more than that._ ” She heard his voice echoing through her thoughts, though she couldn’t place his face to the words. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered. Was it a dream? Some part of one of the heated dreams that woke her in the morning, her cheeks hot and her thighs slick with the reminder of the pleasure that had drawn her to waking? No. She didn’t think it was. She could remember him saying it, his voice clear in her mind, not foggy like that of a dream.

                She stood, restless. She wasn’t sure what to do with this information, or even really how she felt about it. What could she do? Go to Hancock, tell him she—what? Loved him? Wanted to—what? She had no concrete clue what she wanted from him. She just knew that she wanted _him._ She wanted him near and with her and close. What that meant as far as their relationship went, she wasn’t sure. She paced the floor, her mind racing through the newly remembered memories.

                She decided to leave the room. She would go and bathe, get the grime of gunpowder and sweat off her before she went to find Hancock. She hadn’t seen him all day, and she was getting uneasy. She knew he was around; but she always felt better when she knew where he was. She felt even better than that when he was next to her.

                She was distracted as she padded quietly down the hall. Her thoughts were everywhere and it was beginning to bother her, not being able to finish one thought before her mind was onto another. The bath would help, she thought. It would force her to sit still, to contemplate things. And after all-- everyone always said you get your best ideas in the shower.

                She reached the door, and grabbed the handle, only vaguely registering the dim light that slipped from the crack under the threshold. The door swung in and she stood, frozen, staring at the half-naked form of Hancock. His black pants were unfastened, slung low on his hips. The rest of him was bare, his scarred skin sheened with moisture he had yet to towel off.

                “El-,” he started with a jump at her entrance, his hands going to the waist of his pants to pull them up all the way. El’s throat was dry, the pounding of her heart hammering out a tattoo against her ribs. Yet she couldn’t find it in her to be afraid, to be uncomfortable. Instead, she found herself staring, unable to look anywhere else.

                “I-I-,” She stuttered, and to her surprise, felt herself take a step forward. Hancock glanced towards the pile of his remaining clothes, as though judging if he should reach to put them on or not.

                “Are you alright?” He asked, his gaze shifting warily to her. He was tense, and she knew it was because he was unsure why she was there, unsure if she was okay.  She nodded, coming another step towards him. She saw him swallow, his throat flexing as he watched her. He stood, not moving as she came within touching distance.

                “I’m fine.” She whispered, and reached out a tentative hand, letting her fingers brush his arm. Heat sparked through her hand at the touch, and again she wondered somewhere in the back of her mind if it was just her imagination, or if he felt it too.

                “Sunshine…,” he said, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. El moved with a will that seemed to come from some unknown place, her hand tracing lightly up his bicep, to his shoulder. He was lean and well-built, his frame toned and strong, but not bulky. The skin was weathered and browned from the sun and the scars, but between the rough spots were patches of smoothness; remnants of how he had looked before becoming a ghoul.

                He let her caress him; let her explore his body with her fingertips. Her breath came fast, echoing the beat of her heart as it raced in her chest. What was she doing? This was so strange, to come upon him, mostly naked, just out of the bath, and then to say almost nothing and just start to touch him? The rational part of her mind told her to stop, screamed at her to turn and leave before something happened. But what was the something that might happen?

                She touched his collarbone, following the strong arch of it to the base of his neck. His black eyes were boring into her, watching, waiting. She could see the pulse in the side of his neck, beating hard against the skin there. She felt a slight thrill as she watched it, before letting her hand slide over it. She brought her other hand up, and felt Hancock jump slightly as she touched at the small protrusion of his hipbone, jutting up just from over the band of his pants.

                “El…,” He breathed, letting his hand come up to grasp the one by his neck. He didn’t pull it away, though, but just held it, allowing her other hand to continue its explorations. She moved it slowly up his stomach, feeling the flat expanse, marred only by the scars the radiation drug had left behind. She let it come to rest over his chest, feeling his heartbeat pumping reassuringly under her palm.

                They stood, transfixed by one another; she unable to bring herself to look into his eyes, only able to watch her hand where it lay on his skin; him, unwilling to move for fear of making her leave. The sun had gone down, and no light came in from the window. The only illumination in the room came from the small light over the long broken mirror. It cast an eerie glow on everything in the room, making their shadows leap fantastically across the wall.

                It seemed an eternity before she finally moved, coming up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. He let go of her hand, letting his come to the base of her skull, to cradle her head gently. The touch felt good, not constricting or encroaching. He was warm, his lips dry but not unpleasant against hers. For the first time, he kissed her back, and she was surprised not to feel panicked by it. Instead, she marveled at the way he moved against her, the way her lips seemed to part on their own, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

                And then he moved closer, his body coming so as almost to touch her own. She felt the heat of him, the presence, and felt her heart give an unpleasant jolt. Suddenly his hand on her head felt too heavy, the brush of his lips too harsh. She stepped back, her hands snapping to her sides as though magnetized. She swallowed convulsively, trying to fight back bile that threatened to choke her. Why now? Why when she had gotten so close, had come so far?

                “El, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-,” he began, taking a step towards her. She shook her head, her throat too tight to force words through. This wasn’t his fault, dammit. It was hers. It was always her fault, always her fucking memories getting in the way, ruining everything. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes, hot and insistent.

                “I- I’m sorry!” She squeaked out before turning quickly on her heel and barreling out the door.

 


	36. If We Burn It Down And It Takes All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've been gone a while. Suffice it to say that I've had a lot of garbage happening at work, and have been spending most of my free time binge watching Gilmore Girls and feeling sorry for myself. But hopefully I'm out of that funk and back here with all you lovely people!
> 
> To make it up to you, have a long, loquacious chapter with a sweet scene at the end!   
> I'll be sure to update more frequently, I promise!

                Hancock stood rooted to the spot, only able to gaze stupidly towards the door of the bathroom where El had just vanished. His skin still tingled with the feel of her fingers, hot and electric, his heart still hammering against his ribs. But he also felt the remainder of the tense wave that had gripped her so suddenly; the way she had gone from warm and boneless, to stiff and cold under his touch.

                He had gone too fast, moved too quickly. It was his fault she had bolted, his fault the ghosts had come to the forefront of her mind. He had been so caught up in her, so eager to let her explore, let her come to him, that he had forgotten how carefully he needed to move, how perceptive he needed to be to every sign that came from her. She had taken him completely by surprise, showing up in the bathroom as she did, not running when she saw him in his state of undress. He thought vaguely that he might have his answer now, about how she truly felt, but still, he couldn’t assume, couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. Not until she told him, not until she confirmed it. And even if she did, could he be sure she meant it?

                He shook himself. Now wasn’t the time for speculation about El’s innermost thoughts for him. Now he needed to find her. _Should_ he go to find her, he wondered? Would his presence help her, after the intimacy they had just shared? Or would it hurt more, drive her away?

                He recalled the last time her memories had overtaken her, how she had been completely overwhelmed. How she had needed his help to draw her back, to remind her she was safe, no longer in any danger. He knew the answer was clear. He would go to her, see that she was alright, tell her it wasn’t her fault.

                He pulled his shirt on, feeling the rasp of the cloth against his skin, the complete opposite feeling of her fingers on him. He tried not to think about it as he swung his jacket on, situating it over his shoulders as he moved towards the door. He stopped and slid his boots on before he went, going quickly down the hall.

                The Statehouse was quiet, though there were movements throughout of people coming to sleep, the soft noises and rustlings of settling for the evening. El wasn’t in the room they shared, and not in the one across the hall either. He tried not to panic as he searched, ignoring the questioning murmurs from the people scattered on mattresses and couches; drifters who had no money for the Rexford, but didn’t want to spend the night outside.

                At last he found her in a vacant room on the first floor. It was an old exhibit room, the one he had found John Hancock’s clothes in, if he had to say. He had little attention for it, however. El was curled in the corner of the room, almost hidden in the dark. Her arms were hooked around her knees, pulled up to her chest so she took up as little room as possible. It broke his heart to see her like that.

                Carefully he came to sit beside her, not quite touching, but close. She was breathing hard, but not frantic, not the panicked breaths of a flashback. Not yet. She knew he was there. He could tell by the way she tensed a bit as he sat. He tried not to notice it, tried not to feel hurt by it. He knew she had little control over the way her body reacted when in this state.

                “I’m sorry.” She whispered after what seemed like a long time. He shook his head, though he was sure she couldn’t see it in the dark of the room. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to squeeze her reassuringly, but he knew that was a bad idea right now. Instead he laced the fingers of his hands, holding them as visibly as he could in his lap.

                “Don’t apologize, El. It was my fault, I-,” he began, but she shifted next to him violently, lurching to her feet.

                “It wasn’t your fault. It’s mine. It’s always mine. I can’t even kiss someone without-,” she spat, her voice hoarse with anger. Anger was new. He stayed where he was, unsure what to do. Her words died, as though she wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence, but then she began fresh.

                “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Hancock. Because you shouldn’t be. Because I was the one who did…that. I went in there. _I_ came to _you._ I thought I could handle it. I thought, because none of those fucking Raiders had ever kissed me, that maybe I could at least deal with _that._ I thought I could get one fucking thing back, have one fucking good thing. But no, I can’t even let you kiss me without seeing them, without hearing their voices, feeling them crawling on my skin.” She said, her fists clenching at her sides. She had stopped pacing, standing stock still in the dark. He sat still as well, trying to quell his own anger that threatened to boil up, as it always did when she spoke of what had happened to her.

                “I thought things were getting better. I’m a fucking idiot. They won’t ever be better, will they? It doesn’t matter what happens in my dreams, what I want to happen. Nothing matters because a bunch of fucking Raiders raped me and that’s all I’ll ever be able to remember! That’s all I’ll ever be able to think about now, isn’t it?” She said, the pitch of her voice going up as she spoke. An icy snake had snuck up his spine as she spoke the words, as she admitted to herself what had happened. Out loud. To him.

                “El, it’s not-,” he started, but she cut him off.

                “Don’t. Don’t give me platitudes and clichés. I can’t handle that. I can’t handle being told it will get better, or that it doesn’t matter. Because it fucking does matter. It matters because I’ll never be able to have it, to have what I want now.” She said, losing steam. He could see her silhouetted against the dark of the room, the dim light from the hall showing him her outline. He stood, but didn’t approach her, just watched.

                “El. What _do_ you want?” he asked, feeling a bit stupid at the question. It hung in the air between them, and for a moment, he thought she would ignore it, thought she might change the subject, but then she spoke, so softly he had to strain to hear her.

                “You, John. I want you.” She said, and he could hear the tears in her voice. His heart skipped a beat as she used his first name, the sound of it like a prayer on her lips. He swallowed hard, wondering what to say, what to do. His first instinct was to grab her to him, to sweep her off her feet, to kiss her so hard she would bruise. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not now.

                “But I know what this is. I do. I know this-,” she gestured towards him, her pale skin visible in the small light, “-can’t happen. I know the kind of person you are. And I don’t know if I could ever be that person. Not anymore.” She said, as though she had to explain, as though she could backtrack out of her admission. He took a small step towards her, watching to see if she would allow it. She didn’t move away.

                “What kind of person I am?” He felt himself ask, though he knew what she meant. Hell, she had seen him, that night in the VIP Lounge. He knew the reputation he carried. He also knew that at that moment he would trade everything he had, everything he ever had been, to _not_ have that reputation.

                “I can’t use you like that. I can’t keep testing things, keep… trying. Because it’s not fair. Because I… I don’t think-,” She trailed off, though whether because she was unsure how to finish, or simply didn’t want to finish, he wasn’t sure.

                “Last time I checked I could make decisions for myself, El.” He said, with a touch more harshness than he meant. He wasn’t upset, not with her. No. He was upset that he had let her believe that she was simply using him; that he didn’t have feelings for her at all, that he was just a body he was letting her use as he permitted it.

                “I- I know that. But I don’t want you to feel responsible for me. Like you have to care about me just because I showed up on your doorstep and you-,” she began, but it was his turn to cut her off now.

                “Have I given you that impression? Because dammit El, I cared about you from the start. Not just because you showed up on my doorstep, not just because I saved your life, but because I saw you for _you._ Because as soon as I touched you that night when you came into my room, I knew I’d do fucking anything for you, anything to keep you.” He said, wanting so much to touch her now, to feel her in his hands, that connection, the electricity that seemed to spark between them.

                “Don’t you get it, John? I don’t know if I can… If I’ll ever be able to give you… _that._ ” She said, and he saw her fists begin to unclench, her hands coming to wring themselves in front of her. Her use of his first name was like a small high, hitting him right in his core.

                “I don’t care, El. I don’t care if you ever touch me again; as long as you’re there, alive, and beside me.” He said, knowing full well that he would care very much if he could never touch her again. But he also knew that he would much rather her feel safe near him. He took a chance, reaching out a tentative hand to caress her fingers. She was cold. She also didn’t pull back from him.

                “I want to. God I want to so badly, John.” She whispered, and he heard the ache in her words, the need. She let her fingers interlace with his, let his thumb rub gently over her own. He took another step closer. He could feel her, the thrum of her. She was electricity itself, and he wanted nothing more than to let himself be struck by her.

                “We don’t have to go fast, El. Shit, we don’t have to do anything at all. You’re not using me. I’m here because I want to be, because I want to help you, want to take care of you. I want you, Ella Carson. Not what you think I can take from you.” He said, very softly. He felt her tense slightly as he used her full name, but she immediately relaxed again, her hand squeezing his gently.

                “Oh, John.” She said, her voice cracking with emotion. She pulled her hands from his, lifting them to hide her face. He felt the loss of her touch only for a moment before she crashed into him, her body melting into his in a desperate need to be held. His arms went around her, lightly at first, but then as he felt no resistance, he squeezed tighter, the need for her to be close, to feel safe, guiding him.

                He let his hands trace soothing circles on her back as she cried, her sobs wracking her small frame. He thought, as he held her, that she felt more substantial than she had before, like she was getting healthier. The feeling bolstered him, even as she broke down in his arms. 

                He made soft noises of reassurance, saying nothing of consequence, knowing it wasn’t needed. He thought he could feel all the energy draining out of her as she cried, her body becoming heavier as her breathing slowly evened out. It was all out now. He couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of excitement, of happiness at the knowledge that she wanted _him._  He knew the road before them was still long and treacherous, and he didn’t know what they might encounter. But they would encounter it together.

                “John?” She croaked, hoarse from the crying. He pulled back a bit, looking down into her face. The dim light sparked off her eyes, making the dark green look almost black.

                “Yeah, Sunshine?” He replied, reaching a tentative hand up to brush back a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes closed, but not in fear; instead, he thought it was in comfort.

                “Can we sleep now?” She asked, and he couldn’t help the smile that came to his face.

                “Yeah. That sounds really good.” He answered, and taking her once more by the hand, led her out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I love writing these two.
> 
> Next chapter is coming soon, and you're gonna love it!


	37. Always Had High, High Hopes

                El woke calmly enough, though the dream that had wakened her was one that usually would have had her panting and terrified. She took a quick moment to orient herself, noting immediately that she was in the Statehouse, not in the apartments she had been held in. She also found herself cradled in the crook of Hancock’s arm; her head leaned against his chest. Dusty grey light was beginning to filter in from outside, heralding the coming morning.

                He was tense, and she knew he was awake, and that he could tell she was awake. She knew he was more than likely waiting to see what she would do. She could feel her own muscles, stiff with tension left over from the dream. Had she been making noise in her sleep? She didn’t think so, because it hadn’t been him who woke her up. He would have woken her up if she had been loud.

                “Are you alright, Sunshine?” He whispered, still unmoving. She swallowed, her heartrate coming slowly back to normal. She thought she was; the images of the dream already fading from her mind, the feelings on her skin being replaced by the feeling of his arm wrapped softly about her.

                “Yes.” She answered quietly, turning so her cheek could rest on his chest. It comforted her to feel him there, solid and breathing and safe beside her. She concentrated on that, trying to come back to herself. She found it took less time than it had before.

                “I think I’m getting used to them. The dreams.” She said solemnly, and she could hear the note of desolation in her own voice and hoped it didn’t sound too pitiful to him. His thumb stroked lightly over her arm. It anchored her. She focused on that feeling, the gentle touch.

                “They’ll go away. With time they’ll come less and less.” He said, and she heard the tone of knowing in the way he said it, and found herself believing him.

                “I-I hope so.” She answered. It was quiet for a long time, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Slowly her body relaxed, and she felt the tension leave him as well.

                “You won’t have to deal with them alone, El.” He said after a time. El closed her eyes tightly; the thought that tomorrow was the end of the month flitting through her mind once more. The thought that life would resume as normal again. And what did that mean for them?

                “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She retorted cynically. She felt his thumb stop moving, just for a moment, before it began its gentle strokes once more.

                “I’m not.” He said. El blinked back tears that suddenly appeared in the corners of her eyes. Her moods changed so suddenly sometimes it gave her whiplash. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to know that he _would_ indeed be there for her, that she _wouldn’t_ have to be alone again, wake up in a cold sweat with no one to comfort her. But she knew how harsh the Wasteland was. She knew how empty promises like that could be.

                She forced herself to think of the night before, their admissions to one another. How her heart had swelled so huge she thought it would burst when he told her he wanted her. When he said nothing mattered, that he only wanted her for her, nothing more. She tried to reclaim that feeling.

                “I meant what I said last night, El.” He said, startling her with the way he seemed to read her mind. She shifted, moving so she could look into his eyes. They were huge dark pools, so dark that it seemed you shouldn’t be able to read anything there. But she could. She always could. His eyes were kind and expressive and beautiful. They fit his face in a way that made it almost impossible for her to imagine his eyes ever being any different.

                “I did too.” She whispered back to him. She thought about trying to kiss him, but the ghosts of her dreams were still too close to the surface. She hated it. Hated how she was controlled by it. But there was a hope—a small, fleeting one—that made her think that maybe one day she wouldn’t be.

                She could hear the sounds of the Statehouse coming awake around them. The groans of the floorboards, the soft rustlings of people waking up. Still they stayed as they were, taking comfort in the other’s presence. They stayed until the rays of the sun turned from the dull grey of early morning, to the gold of the rising day. Hancock was the first to stir.

                “I have something to show you today. It-it won’t be ready until later, and I have to go and make sure everything is in place. Will you be alright by yourself for a bit?” He asked, and she felt her heart skip a beat as she thought of being alone again. But she knew it wasn’t forever, and she was now very curious about what he wanted to show her.

                “What is it?” She asked, hiding her disappointment in being alone again with the question. He smiled, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

                “A surprise. A good one, don’t worry. But I have to set it up, make sure everything is on track.” He said, speaking more animatedly now. She couldn’t help but let the corners of her mouth lift as she saw how excited he was. She sat up, watching as he pulled his coat on and brushed imagined dust off his hat, setting it straight on his head. As ridiculous as the outfit was, it suited him, and she couldn’t imagine him wearing anything else.

                “Come to the Third Rail around 7 tonight. Daisy has a couple things for you too, if you go talk to her.” He said, standing poised as though to go, but unsure of how to take his leave of her. She reached out a hand to him, and he came to her and took it as she sat on the bed.

                “Thank you… John.” She said, giving his rough fingers a tight squeeze. He smiled down at her, and moved slowly, coming to press his lips to her forehead. She let her eyes close, savoring the delicate touch.

                “Don’t gotta thank me, Sunshine. Now, I’ll see ya’ later.” He said, and with one last squeeze of his hand in hers, turned to go.

 

.....

 

 

                As much as she hated when Hancock left, El didn’t feel his loss so much during the day. Her mind was preoccupied with so many things, not the least of which was his surprise that he promised her that evening. She knew it probably had to do with the fact that tomorrow was the last day of the month he had given her. The thought of it gave her a turn as she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to think of what to do first.

                She had come so far in just a few weeks. She no longer held the addiction she had arrived with, and while she was still having regular nightmares, the good dreams were fighting back. With Hancock’s help, she had come back to herself. Not completely, no. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be the same person she had been before her captivity, hell, even from before the bombs. But she knew, if she looked closely at the secret parts inside of her, that it was still her there. She knew herself, and she had not been completely destroyed.

                The dark was still there, however. She could feel it lurking in the periphery of her mind, waiting like a snake to strike when she wasn’t looking. She had felt it the night before, been woken by it in the morning. She knew it would only take one push too far to have her spiraling once more. And if it happened again, she wouldn’t have the drugs to numb the pain.

                So far she had been able to cope with the death of her husband and son by basically ignoring it. Other things had seemed so much more important, so much more pressing. Not to mention, she had found Hancock. He was a bulwark against the bad thoughts, her anchor in the storm that had become her mind. He had shown her in just a few weeks that even though the Wasteland had taken so much _from_ her, there was still so much left here _for_ her.

                And that was her answer, wasn’t it? They hadn’t discussed it. May never discuss it. When the next day came, perhaps they would just pretend as though they both hadn’t been counting down, as though it was the same as any other day. And perhaps they would just go on with their lives, moving together without the need to acknowledge the fact she had chosen not to die. But she knew that Hancock was not so subversive as that. He would more than likely want a straightforward and honest answer from her. And she thought she knew what it would be.

                With a sigh, she rose, setting herself to the day. She knew she wouldn’t have to rush. She could take her time; relax in the knowledge that no matter what the coming days brought, she would have Hancock by her side.

So take her time was what she did.

 

.....

 

                It was late afternoon by the time she found Daisy. She had taken a long bath, taking some time to boil some water in the small kitchen the Statehouse had so she would actually have hot water. Her hair was clean, though the strong scent of lye and Ash Blossom tickled her nose from the harsh handmade soap she had used. She had washed her clothes as well, noting with some asperity that it had been too long since they had been washed with anything more than just a cursory dunk in some water.

                Daisy brightened as El stepped into her storefront, coming around the counter to greet her. El smiled warmly at her, surprised by the enthusiasm in the woman’s voice.

                “I was wonderin’ if you’d come by. Hancock said you might, but he also said he wasn’t sure what you’d do today, so he didn’t really know.” She said, placing a light hand on El’s bicep and gently guiding her behind the counter. El followed without demur, wondering what had Daisy so excited.

                “Yeah, well. He said you had something for me?” El spoke, her curiosity getting the better of her. Daisy’s eyes crinkled as she smiled.

                “I got it traded off a guy from the Hub. He had come from so far away and just wanted to be rid of most of his shit, so I got a good deal on it. It’s in such amazing condition, and the color just got me thinking that-,” Daisy rambled on. El listened patiently as the ghoul took her to the back room and let go of her arm, moving to rifle through a chest in the corner. She came out with a bundle of something, wrapped in old newsprint. Daisy thrust it into El’s arms, eager.

                “Hancock told me to tell you that you don’t have to wear it. That it’s your choice and it might not be anything you’d want.” Daisy said, her voice coming down a pitch as El fingered the paper carefully. She looked into the black eyes of the woman, and then back down at the package. It was light, and she thought with certainty that it was clothing of some kind.

                “Go ahead. Open it!” Daisy urged. El smiled at her, letting her hands move to find the edge of the wrapping. It came open easily in her hands.

                “Oh my…” El whispered as the silky red fabric slipped through her fingers. It was a dress; one she might have seen in any high end department store in her own time, 200 years before. It was in impeccable condition, as she saw when she held the garment up, letting it tumble out to be fully seen. She could tell it would come to her knees, fitted at the waist, with a scalloped bodice that cut low. Sleeves that came to the elbow ended with a neat hem, and the whole thing caught the afternoon light that filtered in from outside, making it seem to shimmer.

                “It might be a little big for you. But when Hancock saw I had it—well, he didn’t say exactly what was on his mind, but I could tell what he was thinkin’ well enough. And then he started working on this surprise for you, and he mentioned to me if I would maybe see if you’d want to wear it.” She said, watching El as she folded the dress carefully over her arm.

                “I- I don’t know—it’s so… so pretty.” She said, letting her fingers run over the soft silkiness of the dress. She hadn’t seen anything in such pristine condition in a very long time.

                “I think if anyone had the right to wear something so obviously from another time, El. It’s you.” Daisy said softly, and El felt her breath catch in her throat. That was what it was, the small tickling feeling in the back of her head. The thought that told her that she shouldn’t wear it, shouldn’t touch it. That the memories of 2077, of Pre-War, of Nate, of department stores and date nights and fancy dinners were too close to the surface when she held it.

                And yet, there was something so familiar about the dress, something almost comforting in its weight across her arm. A feeling in her chest that she hadn’t had since before Shaun was born, before she had been married. The familiar feeling of wanting to look nice for someone, of getting dressed up for no other reason than to feel good about herself. It tugged at the innermost parts of her, warring with the thought that she was nowhere near as pretty as she had once thought—not with the scars that now crisscrossed her body.

                “Thanks Daisy. I’ll…I’ll take it and I’ll just-,” She faltered, unsure. Daisy smiled at her.

                “Either way, El, he won’t mind.” She said, instantly putting El’s mind at ease with her quick assessment of the thoughts she was trying not to broadcast across her face.

                “Well-,” El began, suddenly thinking of something, “-I don’t think I have any shoes to wear with this.”

                She and Daisy both laughed at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a link to a picture of the dress I envisioned when writing this chapter! I hope you all enjoyed this one!
> 
> https://topvintage.net/en/vintage-retro/50s-trixie-doll-swing-dress-in-red


	38. Now The Night Is Coming To An End

 

                El felt beyond ridiculous.

                She pulled at the hem of the sleeve of the dress, contemplating for the dozenth time whether she should go back and change out of it. It fit well enough, only slightly too big around the waist, but she felt oddly exposed in it, as though she couldn’t move or run if she had to. She set herself again, this time reaching out and grasping the door to the Third Rail, trying to ignore the feeling of her thighs rubbing together, bare under the skirt. She and Daisy hadn’t found any shoes, so she was wearing her boots-- the only footwear she owned. She felt entirely stupid.

                Ham greeted her as she entered, his soft murmur the only sound she heard. That was odd. Usually the Rail would be filling up by now, and Magnolia’s songs could typically be heard at the top of the stairs where she stood. It was quiet below though, and she forgot for a moment the embarrassment of the dress as she wondered just what the hell was going on.

                To her surprise, the doorman actually held his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it. She did, though with an odd sense of detachment, and followed his lead as he began his way down the steps. She had never been so close to the ghoul who served as the Rail’s bouncer. He was tall and large and quiet, though the air with which he carried himself now was completely nonthreatening. She thought vaguely that she was too confused to be bothered by him much anyways.

                As they reached the bottom of the steps, El could see why the place was so quiet. It was completely and totally empty. No Magnolia. No Charlie behind the bar. The place looked as though it should be closed, like she shouldn’t be there. Ham let her hand go as they reached the middle of the room, gave her a small nod, and turned to go. She heard his quick step on the stairs, and then the door as he left the building. She turned, looking around at the empty bar, wondering where Hancock was, and getting slightly nervous.

                “Holy shit. Look at you.” His voice came from the hall that led to the VIP Lounge. She whirled, the skirt of the dress flying around her knees. He was staring at her, his own clothes freshly cleaned and seeming to glow in the dim light of the room. She felt herself blush deeply, the heat blooming on her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

                “I- I don’t have the right shoes. I look dumb. What-,” She started, but he shook his head and cut her off.

                “You look incredible, El.” He whispered, taking a few steps towards her. She felt very much like she did as a teenager, nervous and new. Her heart thrummed beneath her ribs, beating so fast against them she thought they might crack. He came close enough to touch her, and he reached out a hand, lightly stroking the sleeve of the dress over her bicep. The dress didn’t cover the track marks that still stood out on her pale skin and she turned her arm away, pressing the skin of her forearm into her side to hide the marks. He affected not to notice, instead turning his gaze to her face.

                “What is all this? You cleared the bar out?” She asked, trying not to feel uncomfortable under his watch. He smiled, his teeth dazzling in the dim light. They were remarkably white and straight for someone with his chem proclivities.

                “I told you I had something to show you. I thought it would be best if you could see it like this, without distractions.” He said, and she could hear the eager note in his voice. She let a small smile slide across her lips.

                “It’s here? In the bar?” She said, turning her head about to see if anything was out of the ordinary. Hancock laughed, catching her arm.

                “It’s in the back. You gotta close your eyes though.” He said, and his face fell a bit as he realized what he had asked. El’s gaze shifted to the floor and she swallowed, the heartbeat in her chest suddenly falling to the pit of her stomach.

                “You don’t have to, I can-,” He said, back tracking, but she stopped him by slipping her hand into his.

                “Lead the way.” She said softly and closed her eyes. She felt him hesitate for only a moment, and then he pressed a kiss into her palm. Then he was moving, guiding her slowly. She concentrated on the feeling of her hand in his, trying not to think about anything else. He was so excited, she could feel it radiating off of him as they touched.

                It wasn’t far. Only a little walk down what she knew was the back hallway. She could feel the room go from big and empty, to smaller as the walls closed around them in the hall. Her breath caught and Hancock stopped walking, but she squeezed his hand and urged him forwards.

                They stopped after a few more paces, and she heard him turn the knob of a door. It was the Lounge, the only room with a door back here. A slight shiver went through her as she remembered the last time she had been in the Lounge, but she was distracted from the thought when he pulled her in the room and she caught the scent of something she hadn’t ever thought to smell again. The scent of green.

                “Open your eyes, El.” He whispered, and she did.

                It stood in the center of the room, completely out of place and looking absolutely incongruous amidst the furniture. She stepped slowly towards it, the only noise in the whole place the sound of her shoes on the concrete tiles. She reached out a hand and felt her fingers graze the real, thick feeling of a leaf. A real live leaf.

                He had brought her a tree.

                “W-where-,” She whispered, letting her hand come to rest on the bark of the trunk. It wasn’t a large tree; little more than a sapling. She could wrap her hands around it and have her fingers touch. But it was solid and alive beneath her hand. The small twiggy branches brushed her face with leaves that were still bright green with new growth.

                “There’s a place down in the Capitol Wasteland. It’s called Oasis. MacCready’s been there a few times, told me about it. Turns out they owed him a favor, believe it or not. And MacCready owed me.” Hancock said, and she could hear the pride in his voice at his cleverness. She plucked a leaf in her hand, rubbing it back and forth between thumb and forefinger, bringing it to her nose and breathing in the clean, fresh smell of it.

                “It-it probably won’t live long here. I told them they could take it back in a few days. But I thought-,”

                “It’s incredible.” El breathed, her words cutting him off as she turned to face him. He was smiling, his face alight in the red glow of the room. El noticed the rest of the room had been moved around, a small table had been set with two cups and a stubby candle sat lit on top of it. There were bottles of various alcohols sitting on a desk in the corner, waiting to be poured.

                “You did all this?” She asked, still stroking the leaf in her palm. He nodded, shrugging a bit as he did.

                “Been working on it for a while. I wanted it to be nice for you.” He said, very softly. She felt her lips curl up in a self-indulgent smile.

                “You- You didn’t have to-,”

                “I wanted to, Sunshine.” He said, stepping towards her. He held his hand out to her and she took it, and he smoothly guided her to the table, letting her sit on the mismatched chair in front of it. She kept glancing from the leaf in her hand, back to the tree, as though expecting it to disappear. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he had done something so seemingly impossible, just for her.

                “Remember, on the rooftop that night when you told me what you missed the most about-about then?” He asked quietly. She noticed his hand as he poured a small bit of an amber liquid into the two glasses; it trembled, just a bit. Was he nervous?

                “I told you it was trees I missed. But I didn’t expect you to go and find one for me.” She said, taking the proffered glass and giving it a sniff. Whiskey, she thought.

                “Yeah, well. I’d say it was worth it. I’ll remember that look on your face for the rest of my life.” He said, and she hid her blush in the glass, sipping. She took another glance at the tree, as though making sure it was truly there. She noticed now it had been planted in what looked like an upturned cabinet; the dirt placed in the cubby hole of the shelf.

                “It’s amazing.” She said, turning back to him. He smiled at her, taking a sip of his own glass.

                “Why the dress though?” She asked, suddenly remembering she was wearing the silly thing. He raised a shoulder in a noncommittal gesture.

                “How long has it been since you wore something just to look nice, Sunshine?” He asked, echoing her earlier thoughts almost eerily. She held her glass in both hands, playing with the lip of it with her thumb.

                “I haven’t thought much about it. It’s not really practical now, to think that way.” She answered, her voice thin.

                She knew she was right. She also knew what he had meant by his question. He had wanted her to feel different. He wanted her to feel safe, as though she didn’t have to be on her guard. The dress had been his way of asking her if she felt safe with him. If she hadn’t worn it, it would have been like saying she needed the ability to run, the ability to fight. It would have been like saying she wanted to be able to bolt at any time. But she had worn it. And she thought—to him—that meant she had no intention of running.

                Not from him, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another cute chapter with these two! The thought of El wearing a beautiful dress and scuffed up combat boots makes me wish I had any talent with art so I could draw it. Just such a funny vision!


	39. I'm So Full Of Love I Can Barely Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter clocks in at almost 5000 words. I just couldn't find a good place to split it up! I think you'll forgive me though!

               They left the Rail very late at night. No one was out in the courtyard, though he could see the legs of a drifter sleeping under the shelter of a lean-to on the far wall. He breathed the night air in deeply, chest puffing. El did the same, her arm tucked neatly into the crook of his own. She still held the leaf; he watched her finger it delicately as they walked.

                It had been even more perfect than he had imagined. She was a vision in the dress. The red of the fabric complimented her pale skin and dark hair so well it looked like it had been made only for her. Even the boots she wore with it, which on anyone else would look bizarre, seemed to compliment the outfit. But the thing that had made the whole endeavor worth it, was the smile that had been plastered on her face for basically the entire night.

                He knew she was from a different time, a different place. But never was it as obvious as when she smiled. Her teeth were stark white and straight, not out of line or damaged in any way. There were no lines of strain or fatigue on her face; at least none that remained when she let her face relax. She hadn’t done much with her hair aside from pull it into her usual bun, but a few strands had come loose over the course of the night, and they fell in soft swirls down her delicate neck, the skin of it so white and untouched by radiation and sun damage.

                She was incredible, radiant, intelligent, and she was his. She leaned against him as they made their way back to the Statehouse, though she didn’t need him to be able to stay upright. They were not drunk this time. Just pleasantly light and intoxicated only by each other’s company. He had his jacket slung over his shoulder; he could feel her arm brushing him through the thin fabric of his shirt. He reveled in it. The whole thing had almost been enough for him to forget Logan’s veiled threats, and the thought that the Raider who had taken her might want her back. Almost.

                He thought of telling her about it, thought that she should know-- at least to be on her guard. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not after the night they had just shared, and not when the information Logan had was basically rumors spread by Raiders and mercs. It was not enough to worry her with, especially when she had just started to seem better. He had told Fahrenheit, had warned the Neighborhood Watch. That would have to be enough for now, until he could figure out what to do next.

                The Statehouse was dark, lit only by a few dim lights along the hallway as they moved towards the room they shared. She was laughing quietly, trying not to wake the rest of the occupants of the place as he made some offhanded remark she thought was funny. It had been the best night he had experienced in recent memory, and it was all because of her.

                They made it to the landing of the second floor. He thought that maybe, before they fell asleep that night, he would ask her. He thought he knew, felt the answer in the way she looked at him, the way she moved. But he needed to hear it from her; he needed to hear that she truly wanted to live. He was not naïve; he knew the darkness would still be there and may linger for a very long time. He knew that it was not so easy as one perfect night. He especially knew that it took months, sometimes years for healing to come. But he also knew that time was a balm that few could wait to sooth. He understood the need for things to come instantly, to be better without waiting. But if he could convince her that it was worth the wait…              

                She stopped outside their door, her body turning out of his grasp to face him. He could see her silhouetted against the light of the hall, the dull light shadowing her face and haloing her in gold. He raised a brow at her, watching as she leaned against the jam of the door. She had a small smile on her face, the same one that hadn’t left since he had shown her the tree.

                “Now is when you ask me if I’ve had a nice time. If you’re gonna get a second date.” She said, her voice a soft murmur in the heavy night air. His brow knitted in puzzlement and he went to open his mouth to ask what she was on about, but she continued.

                “And then I’ll tell you I’m not sure, that I’ve had a great time but I’ve been dealing with a lot and I’m not sure I’m ready for a long term thing.” She continued, to his growing confusion. She stepped towards him, coming close and reaching a hand up to caress the lapel of his jacket. He reached up to take it, but she moved it away before he could.      

                “And then you’ll kiss me. And I’ll kiss you back. And I’ll blush, and say I don’t normally do this sort of thing. And then I’ll ask if you want to come in for a nightcap.” She said, and he could feel her breath tickle his cheek as she spoke. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lips. He wanted to touch her, to put his hand to her face and hold her there, but he kept still, enjoying the feel of her soft mouth on his.

                “I’m not sure what all that is about, Sunshine. But I can kiss you. That’s one thing I know how to do.” He said when they parted, and she smiled. He could make out the dark stain of a blush on her cheeks. She reached up behind her and opened the door, moving backwards into the room so she could watch him.

                “It’s what people used to do on dates.” She said, kicking off her boots as he followed her in. He laughed a bit, tossing his jacket onto the chair in the corner.

                “Dates? Like in the old Holotapes?” he asked, watching as she sat on the bed, the skirt of the dress puffing out in a soft _whoosh_.

                “Yeah, kinda. People would go to the movies, or out to eat. To get to know each other.” She said, and he heard the note of nostalgia in her voice and wondered how many dates she had been on in her own time. From the look of her, pale and radiant like melted moonlight in the light from the window; he could guess she had been on many.

                “What about the nightcap? You want something else to drink? I can go-,” he started, remembering the last thing she had said before his kiss.       

                “No, no. It was just-just something people said if they wanted an excuse for their date to come inside.” She explained, and he noticed she suddenly found something very interesting to look at on the leaf in her hand.

                “Ahh. Wasn’t aware you needed an excuse for me to come in.” He said, teasing. She shot him a quick glance, a nervous smile coming to her face. It was quiet for a long moment.

                “Tonight was wonderful, John.” She whispered, and he watched as she set the leaf on the table by the bed. He smiled; glad to hear the note of genuine enjoyment in her voice. He moved towards the door.

                “I’ll just go check a few things, let you get dressed. I’ll be back.” He said. He typically did this most nights, allowing her to change in privacy. That, or she would go to another room, telling him she wanted to brush her teeth or another such preparation for sleep. It was their routine.

                “Wait.” She said, her voice sounding thready as she spoke. His heart skipped a beat and he turned back to face her.

                “Unzip me?” She asked, and stood, turning and gesturing with her hand towards the back of the dress. He could see the long zipper that ran from the base of her neck, down towards the swell of her hips.

                “Uh, sure.” He said, his throat suddenly dry. His footsteps felt muted to his ears as he closed the small gap between them, taking the zipper in his fingers. She was alive under his hand; he could feel the vibration of her. True to the quality of the dress, the zipper slid smoothly. He tried to keep his breathing under control as the pale expanse of her naked back slowly revealed itself. He pulled all the way down, until the zipper stopped, tantalizingly close to the top of her ass.

                She was tense, but not in the way she was when scared or uncomfortable. No, he felt the difference in the way she held herself; more in anticipation than in fear. He let his eyes trail from the base of her neck and down her spine, his heart squeezing as he saw the long, jagged scars left from the Raiders. The marks crisscrossed her back in soft pink lines, terrifyingly brilliant against the soft milky white of her skin.

                Without thinking he reached out, letting his fingers trail over her shoulder blade. He felt her shiver, and she stepped away, her arms going around her waist. He balled his hand into a fist, suddenly ashamed.

                “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-,” he started, but she whirled on him, her eyes alight.

                “No. Don’t apologize. I-I want you to-to-,” she tried to finish, but couldn’t, either too overwhelmed or unsure of what she wanted to say. The dress sagged around her shoulders, but she held it up with her arms. He focused on her face, forcing himself to smile reassuringly at her.

                “Sunshine. I meant it when I said we should go slow. You get changed and I’ll come back, alright?” He said, and turned to go out into the hall. He definitely needed air now.

                “John.” She said, and she spoke his name so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her. There was a soft rustle behind him, and he turned very slowly to face her again.

                “Holy-,” he breathed as he saw her, now standing in the puddle of the dress, completely naked. She seemed to glow; the lights from the neon outside sparking off her skin, letting him see all of her, the curves and dips. Her eyes were glued to his face, watching to see what his reaction would be. He hoped that stunned silence was a compliment, because short of fainting, that was all he felt capable of.

                “I- I don’t know how far-,” She was saying, but he could scarcely hear her over the pounding of his own heart. He stood rooted to the spot, unable for a moment to trust himself. He wanted very much to grab her to him, to run his hands over her, to know all of her. He wanted to take her, to push her onto the bed and make her forget everything except the feeling of his cock. He wanted to hear her say his name over and over in benediction and ecstasy.

                But he knew he had to move carefully here. He knew what this could cost her if he did anything even the slightest bit wrong. He knew that nothing he did could be about him, about what he wanted. And he found that notion to be extremely comforting to him.

                Finally, he found the strength to take a step towards her. When she didn’t shy away, he took another, until at last he was standing so close he had to tilt his head to see into her eyes. He could see the goosebumps that had risen over her chest, saw the soft pink of her nipples as they budded up in the cool air. He could imagine what they would feel like in his hand; nothing like they had in his dreams.

                “I-I know I’m not- not that nice to look at now.” She whispered, and her hand brushed over her chest, skirting the scars there that had not yet begun to fade to silver. He caught the hand in his own, bringing it up to touch his own marred face.

                “Ella-- Sunshine. Do you think someone like me gives a fuck about a few scars?” He said, meeting her eye so she could see the sincerity in his face. She smiled, an expression of such sweetness and relief that he almost couldn’t bear to look at it. Almost.

                Her hand dropped from his face and she placed it gently on his chest. The air in the room seemed to have all gone, and he was lightheaded with the thrill of her. She was so close to him, so warm. He watched as she rose on her tiptoes, and caught his mouth with hers, so soft and gentle that if he closed his eyes, he might think she wasn’t kissing him at all.

                He let one arm come up and snake around her waist, pulling her into him. He used the contact as a guide, letting himself feel through the touch how tense she was, if she was uncomfortable. It was like touching a live wire. She was warm and vibrant under his hand, and at the contact, she deepened the kiss. The hand on his chest gripped his shirt and pulled him slightly, and he moved with her, letting her guide where she wanted him to go. He could tell she was moving towards the bed, and his heart leapt into his throat, the blood in his ears suddenly draining southward.

                Her legs hit the frame of the bed and she sank onto it, her hand still grasping the fabric of his shirt to pull him down with her. His arm came down beside him to prop himself up over her, and he felt a subtle shift in her body. He pulled back to look at her, only to find her eyes squeezed tightly shut, one of her arms coming up protectively over her chest. Her other arm fell from his chest, and he could see her breathing change from the soft pants of lust to the deep breaths of coming panic.

                “Sunshine…,” he coaxed, standing up from the bed and taking a few deep breaths of his own. Her eyes sprang open, and she sat up. She forced her arms to her sides, though he could tell she wanted to cover herself with them.

                “John, please. I’ll be okay, I just need-,” she began, her eyes unable to meet his for more than a second.

                “No. This is too fast, El. It’s not what you need-,”

                “I know what I need! I do, it’s just-,” she said, her voice coming up a pitch. He swallowed hard, trying to get his blood flowing again. He should have known this was a bad idea.

                “It’s just nothing, El. I won’t do this with you if you aren’t ready. You don’t need someone else-,” he started, but she cut him off, venom snaking its way into her voice.

                “Don’t tell me what I need, John. I know what I need, okay! I need someone that will make me feel- make me feel like I’m not just some whore!” She shouted, and he stopped moving away, turning back to face her. She sat still on the bed, her eyes defiant.

                “El, you’re not-,”

                “I know. I know that. But that’s what I was to them, John. All I was to them was a fucking warm hole and I need someone to…to show me I’m not just…that.” She said, her voice quiet again. He moved slowly, coming to sit beside her on the bed. His mind was reeling, the events of the past few minutes spinning through his thoughts.

                “Sunshine…,” he said, unable to think of something else to say. She turned to him, grabbing his hand in hers and squeezing it.

                “You’re the only person who can-who I would let-,” she stammered, her own emotions catching up to her. He could see how desperately she wanted this. He could see in her eyes how much she truly wanted it, but she was at war with the memories her body fought against. Still, he wasn’t sure he could give her what she wanted. At least not yet.

                “Ella. I won’t have sex with you if you can’t even stand to have me kiss you.” He said, very softly. He heard her breath catch in her throat and he met her eyes once more.

                “It’s not that, John. I can kiss you, you can touch me. It’s just-when you’re over me. When I feel trapped…,” she whispered. He understood at once, and felt guilty for not realizing it before. He knew she didn’t like to be crowded, didn’t like to feel enclosed, but it hadn’t hit him that _he_ might make her feel that way. An idea struck him, making sweat spring to his palms and his heart flutter in his chest.

                “Sunshine, do you trust me?” he asked, looking down at her beside him. He could see her think, just for a moment, before she nodded.

                “Yes. I do.” She answered, and her voice was steady. He took her hand in his once more, and guided her until the two of them sat on the bed, his back against the metal headboard, her back against his chest. Her legs stretched out, long and pale in front of them; his-clad in the black pants- on either side of hers. He could feel her breathing against him; nervous, but not scared.

                “Tell me if you want me to stop.” He whispered into her ear, feeling the tickle of strands of her hair against his cheek. She nodded, her eyes half lidded. He forced himself not to shake as his hands traced lightly down her arms, starting at her shoulders and slowly making their way to her hands. He grasped her right hand in his and raised it, leaning in slightly to place a light kiss on the knuckles. She exhaled slowly.

                He moved with a care that he didn’t know he possessed, letting her adjust to his touch, letting himself find all the soft places of her, the ones that made goosebumps race across her skin. Untouched by radiation, her body was an enigma; silken and new. He marveled in the way the downy hairs of her stood, outlined in the dim light from the window, so she seemed to glimmer. He touched the soft curve of her neck, first with his fingers, and then with his lips, placing light kisses from the secret place behind her ear down to her collarbone, delighting as her breathing quickened.

                He was very cautious not to touch her scars. Instead, he let his fingers find the smooth undamaged flesh between them. It helped him to be able to think only of her; not of the monsters that had done so much damage so brutally. He thought it must help her as well. If he didn’t draw attention to the past, perhaps she could live truly in the present, here with him.

                After what seemed like hours of careful exploration of the arches and curves of her, he let his hand brush lightly over her breast. She gasped, and he paused, waiting to see if the reaction had been one of pleasure. She was trembling ever so slightly, and he thought for a moment he had gone too far. In an instant, her hand was on his however, a light urging as she pressed his hand more firmly to her. He felt her nipple hard against his palm, the soft weight of her in his hand. It was better than any dream he could ever have.

                “Your heart is pounding.” He whispered unnecessarily. He could feel it under his hand as he let his fingers stroke the velvet smoothness of her breast, ignoring the small puckered scars. She let out a huff that might have been a laugh.

                “I wonder why.” She answered a tad sarcastically. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and allowed his hand to brush purposefully against her nipple. She gasped, but her body stayed relaxed against his. Slowly, achingly slowly, he let his free hand trace down her ribs, to the flat expanse of her stomach. The skin here was still soft, but had a different quality to it than the rest of her, not quite as firm as her skin elsewhere. He could see the silvery lines of stretch marks here, a stark reminder of her journey; of what she had lost.

                He skimmed over her stomach towards her hipbone. She shivered and the movement made him squirm behind her. He touched the spot where her hip joined thigh, feeling the heat of her body against the pads of his fingers. She was watching his movements, her eyes almost closed, but he could see the glint of green, so dark in the dim light of the room.

                “Can I touch you?” He asked, letting his breath tickle over her ear. He realized again that his own heart was pounding, so hard he could feel it warring with hers in his chest; knew she must feel it too. He stilled his hand as he waited for her answer, letting it rest gently on the swell of her thigh.

                “Yes,” she breathed. He made a sound of acknowledgment in his throat, and began stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh, careful to avoid a particularly long and jagged scar there. He could feel the dark curls that hid her brushing his knuckles, but he forced himself to move slowly, to not rush. He continued his light explorations of her thighs, moving his fingers slowly up until they met the damp crease where her core joined her thigh.

                It was as though she was made of electricity, and now he could feel the constant hum that filled her. Her legs had spread wider, making room for his touch, and he took that as a good sign. Still, he didn’t want to move too quickly, didn’t want anything to startle her, to make her uncomfortable. He was in tune with every movement she made, every breath she took. It was intoxicating.

                “John… please touch me,” she breathed, her head turning ever so slightly against his shoulder. He looked into her eyes, which now met his, and he could see the need there, the wanting. He swallowed hard, trying not to let himself be clouded by his own lust. He kissed her, craning his neck down to capture her lips with his. She pulled away as his fingers brushed the soft hairs at her center, her sharp intake of breath almost stilling him.

                With a delicacy he wasn’t sure he had until now, he let his forefinger slide gently along her. She was warm, almost hot and he could feel wetness gathering there. Her hands found his thighs, gripping them as though she needed an anchor. Her knuckles were white with the grip, but she soon relaxed them as he stroked her. He stopped at the top of her mound, pressing his middle finger gently against her. She gasped, the breath of it dying with a sound he could have sworn was a moan.

                “Okay, Sunshine?” He whispered, his finger circling the flesh he knew was hiding her most sensitive spot. He could feel her legs trembling, her anticipation about what he would do next like a live wire beneath her skin.

                “Y-yes. Yes.” She breathed, her second ‘yes’ coming with a confidence that drove him to dip his finger farther. She was slick, so hot he thought he must burn. Her fingers dug into him, a silent urging that almost sent him spiraling. He drew his finger along her, deciding not to focus on her entrance, but instead on the sensitive bundle of flesh above it. He could feel it there, hardening under his touch, coming taught with need and the urgency of release.

                El squirmed beneath him, the first writhings since he had begun touching her. She pressed herself back against him, one of her legs coming up to help buck her hips off the bed. He slid his free hand down from her breast to her hip, not to hold her down, but to guide her, to cradle her. The noises she was making were killing him, soft moans and pants; catches that told him he was doing things right.

                She was almost dripping now, the heat from her core echoing the ache in his cock. He knew she could feel it against her back, but didn’t care; the only thoughts in his mind were for her. She jerked and rose to his touch, and he could tell she was getting close, her breathing turning to ragged pants. He tore his eyes from what his hands were doing to glance at her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face set almost in a grimace. He thought that she was fighting it; that even though her mind and body thought it knew what she wanted, there was something inside her that couldn’t let go.

                “Trust me, Sunshine. I’m right here, El.” He whispered, only letting his ministrations slow a fraction. He saw her eyes flutter open and meet his, and then her climax took her, sudden and hard. Her thighs clenched around his hand, shaking with the effort of the orgasm. Her breath caught in her throat, and she let out a cry that mingled his name with a moan and made him think that if there was an afterlife, that sound would play there on repeat for all eternity.

                He let his fingers continue to stroke her until she relaxed, boneless and melted, against him once more. Her hands sat limp on his thighs, and her breathing slowly returned to normal. His heart slowed, matching hers until his was the only one he felt in his chest again. He placed a kiss to her temple once more, tasting salt. They stayed like that for a long while, each one lost in their own thoughts. After what seemed like hours, El drew her legs up, turning in his lap to face him. Her eyes avoided his, and he could see even in the dark the tears that clung to her down swept lashes.

                And then he felt her hands on him.

                It was all he could do not to press himself into her touch, not to immediately lose himself to the pressure of her hands on his cock through the fabric. Instead, he reached down, finding her wrists and gently pulling them away from him. He swallowed, trying to work up the ability to speak.

                “Not tonight, Sunshine. Not tonight.” He said, watching as her eyes shut tightly, a single tear tracking down her face. He reached to wipe it away, and she pressed her face into his palm. He pulled her to him, letting her bury her face in his chest. She didn’t cry, at least not past a few tears that escaped only to be quickly wiped away with the back of her hand. She only lay against him, as though he was a bulwark against the memories that suddenly seemed so close to the surface.

                “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear her. He reached down and carefully pulled at the sheet on the bed, drawing it up so it covered them.

                “No need to thank me, Sunshine,” he answered, feeling her settle under the thin covering. He meant it, wanted her to know he did. He knew his body betrayed what his voice spoke, and cursed it. Still, he hoped she believed him, hoped she knew he was genuine.

                Above all else, he hoped very much she would want him to do it again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy and there it was. More to come soon! We are going to move into more adventure and action now that the month is up. Don't worry, there will still be the sweet, darling scenes between these two, but they're gonna be getting out and doing stuff too!  
> I hope everyone is still enjoying! This is set to be my longest and most ambitious work to date, and I hope you're all willing to stick around!


	40. I'm Reflecting Light

 

                El lay pressed against Hancock, her naked body still sensitive even to the touch of the clothes he still wore, the sheet that covered them. Her mind was caught in a loop, replaying the last few hours over and over in her mind. The way his fingers felt on her skin, his breath hot on her neck, the feel of knowing he was there and finally being able to let go—the memory was enough to make her heart start racing again.

                ‘Content’ wasn’t enough of a word to describe what she felt, and ‘happy’ felt woefully inadequate. She was still nervous, still afraid the darkness would creep back in, would steal the moment away from her as it seemed to always do. But above that, she felt warm, she felt safe, she felt…peaceful. And wrapped in the soft embrace of the man who had given all that to her, she realized she very much felt like she wanted to do so much more with him. But he had stopped her, told her they were done for the night, despite the urgent press of him she knew must still linger.

                Hancock laid very still, his arms wrapped lightly around her as if he was afraid to crowd her. She supposed he was; she had told him that she sometimes felt that way only a little while before. She had told him how her mind turned on her when she felt trapped, overshadowed. She imagined it would be on his mind always now, and felt a tad dismayed. She hadn’t wanted him to feel like he’d done anything wrong. It was she who couldn’t bear the thought of someone on top of her, the thought of an embrace held too long. She desperately wished for it to be different. Had she only met him a few months before…

                But no. She knew that wouldn’t have worked. She had been too distracted, too caught up in the death of her husband, the loss and hopeful recovery of her son to have been interested in anything like this. And when her journey had finally come to an end—well, she had told him what she had planned to do. And it hadn’t involved romance at all.

                She was forced to accept that this was their lot. If she wanted him—and for fuck’s sake, did she ever—it would be like this; careful, calm, and slow. There was still much to learn between them, much to explore, but this was a step; a big one.

                What came next though? Tomorrow was the last day of the month he had given her, though one more day hardly seemed to matter now. Life would have to go on. She would have to resume her responsibilities, go back to life as she had known it, outside of the neat little bubble they had created here. Her thoughts drifted momentarily towards Deacon, Preston, even Nick. Most of her friends thought she was dead, aside from Deacon. Had he told them? Had he gone to Sanctuary, spread the news of her return?

                It wouldn’t matter if he did. Most wouldn’t believe Deacon, not those who knew him at least. Though why he would lie about her resurrection, she couldn’t think of an answer. She knew the Minutemen, the people in her various Settlements would need to see her to believe it. And her stomach knotted at the thought, at having to tell them where she’d been, or make something up. She could maybe lie to some of them, the settlers at least. But she knew when she looked into Preston Garvey’s eyes, guileless and innocent; she would only be able to tell him the truth.

                “John?” She spoke, almost surprising herself as she did. He stirred, one of his hands lightly trailing down her arm, to grasp her elbow and take a firmer hold on her.

                “Yeah Sunshine?” He responded huskily. He must have been lost in his own thoughts as well; his voice seemed abstracted in the heavy night air.

                “I-I need to leave.” She said, unsure of how to broach the subject. She felt him stiffen under her, his body suddenly rigid and cold. She was startled at this sudden change, and her heart skipped a beat, unsure what it meant.

                “Leave? I-I thought… Sunshine- El--, you can’t. I won’t let you-,” he spoke, and she heard the note of panic in his voice. Reevaluating her statement, she suddenly realized how it must have sounded to him. As though she wanted to go alone, as though she still wanted to die.

                “No, John. No. Not that. Not leave like that.” She explained hastily, drawing back from him a bit so she could look him in the eyes. She drew the sheet around herself, self-conscious about facing him naked.  He watched her warily, black eyes wide with alarm.

                “I mean I need to leave here. Go back to Sanctuary. I need to… need to start living again. I have to let everyone know I’m alive. I owe that to them.” She said, ending rather feebly. He swallowed hard; she saw the harsh movement of his throat against the white of his shirt.

                “You don’t owe shit to anyone, El.” He said, but she saw his shoulders relax a bit. Not completely. He was still strung tight beneath her touch.

                “I know that, but I can’t stay here forever, pretend as though nothing else exists. Not when there are settlements, people that could use my help.” She said, feeling the familiar pull of usefulness tug at her chest. It was the same spark that had touched her when she had gone to rescue Hancock from the Combat Zone, though not as bright. Still, it comforted her.

                “I know that.” He answered softly. Before she could speak again, he moved. His hand found her chin, and he tilted her head up to look at him. His gaze pierced through her, as though he wanted to capture everything in her face, not miss anything she said.

                “El, tell me the truth. Do you still want to die?” He asked, with a blunt edge to his voice that told her that this was important. She had known he would need a firm answer. He was not one to leave things to chance. She let her eyes meet his, though his scrutiny felt invasive.

                “I-I don’t think so. No. I still think—wonder—if maybe things would be better if I was dead. But I don’t want to kill myself anymore. At least, I don’t think I do now.” She said, and found that she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her with the speaking. Hancock didn’t seem so convinced, and his grip on her chin tightened ever so slightly.

                “El, I’ll come with you. Fuck, I’ll follow you to the ends of the world if you want me to. But I—I need to be sure-,” she listened, but cut him off as his voice wavered on his last sentence.

                “I won’t. I can’t tell you things will be easy. I can’t tell you that I’m alright, because I know I’m not. I know it’s still there. It’s muted, it’s far away when I’m with you, but I don’t know if that will last. I don’t know if you’ll always be enough. I hope you will, I hope that I’m getting better, that in time things will be normal again, but I don’t know.” She said, and she could see the lines in his face set firmly to deny it, to argue with her. She continued before he could.

                “What I do know is that I’m not leaving here with any intention other than going to see my friends, to make sure Sanctuary is still okay. I’m not going to leave here and try to kill myself. Not anymore. And I really hope that when I do leave here, it’s with you.” She said, the cautious note of hope slipping out with her declaration.

                “I told you when we first met that I’d wanted to go out and see the Commonwealth again.” He said, freeing her chin and letting his hand lightly caress her cheek. He was warm, his body relaxing once more as she smiled at him.

                “They won’t miss you here?” She asked, almost playfully. He shrugged, gathering her to him once more, though in a more reclined position against the frame of the bed. She could hear his heart pounding reassuringly as she laid her head against his chest.

                “They’ll manage. Can’t let the mayor get too comfortable, right? That’s how tyrants are born.” He said, and she heard the note of truth in his voice that spoke to his own experiences with the fact.

                “We can’t have that.” She said, right before letting out a jaw cracking yawn. Hancock hummed in agreement, his hand stroking her hair, which had come almost completely loose over her shoulders now.

                “Sleep now, Sunshine. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” His voice came, soft and heavy in the dark. And she let sleep take her, safe and happy in her lover’s embrace.

               

 


	41. I Don't Feel Anything, At All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaandddd we're back!  
> Hope you all like this chapter, we're going back out into the Wastes now, and more adventure and action will follow!

               In the event, they left two days later, Hancock giving Fahrenheit a last squeeze of her shoulder as he left her in charge. He was anxious and eager to be on the way, his mind not being able to completely forget about Logan Hall, and the rumors that the Raiders who had kidnapped and tortured El might have a bounty out for her return. They would be out of the Ruins by nightfall and well on their way to Sanctuary and—he hoped—safety. He still wasn’t convinced that Logan knew what he was talking about, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take any chances.

                El seemed in good spirits. She was cheerful as she said goodbye to Daisy and Fahrenheit, the latter woman actually returning the smile El gave. Fahrenheit would never be described as having a “sunny disposition” but she had warmed significantly to El since the Combat Zone debacle, and he was glad of it. Cait stood in the courtyard as well, surveying the goodbyes with a gimlet eye. El had tried to convince her to come with them, to take up residence in Sanctuary, but Cait had refused, insisting she would hang out in Goodneighbor for a while yet, at least until she figured out her next steps.

                The day was warm and the sun was out. Only a few wispy clouds floated lazily through the blue of the sky, borne on a breeze that gently tossed strands of El’s dark hair about her ears and neck. She had it pulled into a ponytail, the ends of it just grazing the spot between her shoulder blades. She was well outfitted, with the weapons and armor she had procured from KLEO to come and rescue him and Fahrenheit from the Combat Zone. She walked with a confidence he hadn’t seen from her since that incident. It gave him a turn to see it; as though she couldn’t feel that way without a weapon in her hand.

                He had planned the route meticulously, deciding they would head north to get out of the Ruins as quickly as possible. Going west towards Diamond city seemed to be asking for trouble, no matter how direct the route from there was. Once they passed Bunker Hill and got into the Wastes, the roads were fewer, but he would rather brave the creatures of the Wasteland than deal with the groups of Raiders that made their homes in the Ruins.

                They walked in an amiable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. He was watching her covertly as they moved, making sure she was alright, that she didn’t falter or seem to lose her nerve. He knew she would be strung tightly until they got out of the shadows of the ruined city, out into the open expanse of the Commonwealth. Hell, he would be too. She seemed alright though, picking her way carefully over rusted out heaps of garbage and crumbled infrastructure.

                They had been inseparable the last two days as they planned the trip, talking of this and that. He could tell she was nervous to see her friends again. Could he blame her? When Deacon had come to speak with him a month before, he had told Hancock that everyone thought she was dead, that they had buried her along with any hopes of seeing her again. That knowledge that she would have to resurrect herself, to give some kind of explanation of where she had been-- it ate at her.

                “They’re just gonna be happy to see you again, El,” he echoed for the dozenth time as they moved slowly passed the old Cabot House. Her head jerked in his direction, drawn from her reverie. She gave him a quick smile before refocusing her attention on the road in front of her.

                “I- I don’t know. I’m still not sure what I’ll tell them,” she responded. He closed the gap between them, coming close so their elbows touched every now and then with their steps. They were coming towards the bridge that would lead them out of the main Ruins. He knew the likelihood of traps and ambushes were high, and kept himself alert.

                “It won’t matter what you tell them. You don’t owe them an explanation, Sunshine,” he spoke with a confidence he wasn’t sure he felt. Sure, she didn’t owe them anything. But if she chose to leave her disappearance open ended, how would these people she had cared for, built settlements for, feel about being abandoned? He didn’t want her fragile sense of self-worth and happiness to be torn down with a couple careless words.

                “I know that, John, I do but-,” she cut herself off and froze, holding up a hand to stop him as well. She pressed her finger to her lips, her head tilted as though she heard something far away. He strained his ears, but all he could hear was the lapping of the water on the pilings of the bridge.

                “Shit.” She said, jerking her head up and surveying the sky. She turned in a circle on her toes, watching for something he couldn’t yet see.

                “El, what-,” he started, but then his ears caught the noise she must have heard. The distant chop of one of the Brotherhood of Steel’s Vertibirds. He joined her in her search, thinking vaguely that they should get to cover, find somewhere to hide. She watched intently, before her arm shot out, pointing towards a dark spot on the horizon, coming from the old airport.

                “There. Shit.” She remarked, her eyes ripping from the spot-- getting closer-- to their surroundings. They were in the middle of the bridge; the only cover the buildings of the Ruins behind them, and a junk wall ahead of them.

                “Will they know it’s you? Will they care?” he asked, unsure of the severity of the situation. If anything, El seemed more annoyed than scared. She watched the spot, which now was very clearly a Vertibird, and seemed to be smoking badly, before looking at him again.

                “They’ll know. And they’ll care.” She answered ominously. She began moving forward again, skirting a large hole in the bridge. She was headed towards the junk walls at the end of the bridge, though not with any speed. He matched her pace, trying not to worry.

                “Should we hide?” he asked as they reached the walls, watching as the Vertibird made a wide circle above them. It wasn’t shooting. That might be a good sign, or it might mean the damage to the craft made it impossible, and they would just land before they began the attack.

                “No. They spotted us a long time ago I bet. Usually they shoot on sight, though.” She said, readjusting her rifle in the crook of her arm. He saw her touch the butt of her shotgun, as though to reassure herself that was there too. He took a tighter grip on his own weapon, palms suddenly sweaty.

                The Vertibird landed in a relatively empty lot nearby. He could see now that one of the rotors was badly damaged, and the thing smoked and made a god-awful whining noise. It had seen better days. As he watched, several Brotherhood of Steel soldiers poured out. They had seen better days too, it seemed. One wore a damaged set of power armor, a leg panel missing and no helmet. The other two wore the basic orange jumpsuit with combat armor strapped over their chests. They all carried the straightforward laser rifles all the Brotherhood were issued.

                El stood watching with him. She was poised on her toes, ready for anything. The sight made him ease slightly. Anything that happened, they could handle it together.

                “So it is you.” Came the venomous voice of the man in the power armor. El straightened ever so slightly as he came closer, the two others taking point behind him.

                “Thought you were dead. Hoped you were. I see nothing’s changed about your traitorous behavior.” The man said, gesturing to Hancock with a nod of his close shaved head. El scoffed, her posture defiant. Hancock watched, unsure whether he should be offended or not.

                “You come to just be a little shit, Rhys? I guess nothing’s changed with you either.” She retorted, her tongue so sharp he almost laughed. The man took a menacing step towards her, and Hancock raised his weapon a smidge. One of the two men behind the one she called Rhys trained his weapon on him.

                “I should kill you right now, you bitch. You destroyed everything. Killed Elder Maxson. And for what? So you could pal around with synths and ghouls?” He said, voice coming down low and dangerous in his throat. Hancock wanted to punch him for the way he looked at her. The hatred in his eyes was enough to make his stomach turn. He was completely ignoring Hancock, as though he was a particularly loathsome part of the environment.

                “You know why I did it Rhys. Because your Brotherhood killed good people, innocent people who were just trying to help and I-,” he cut her off with a wave of his arm.

                “Good people my ass, Carson. Those Railroad idiots got what was coming to them, and you know it. You can’t help synths, abominations, and expect-,” he ranted, but now it was her turn to cut him off.

                “Get the fuck out of here, Rhys. Go to the Capitol if you’re so intent on staying with your precious Brotherhood. I’m sure you’ll fit right in there with all the other assholes and murderers.” She said, letting her own tone drop to threatening levels. He could see the two men behind Rhys shifting uncomfortably. They wanted to shoot, wanted to kill her- to kill them both. He could see it in the way they looked at her, in the way they held themselves.

                “Oh no. See, I’m not leaving so easily. If I bring you to the Capitol though, see you court martialed the way you should be, then-,” she laughed, loud and clear, though without humor.

                “Oh is that all you want? Well by all means let me just hop on your smoking pile of junk and let you take me on down!” She said, though she kept still, her rifle still held fast in her hands. Hancock was getting uneasy. He wasn’t sure who would win in a firefight, here in the open. They were outnumbered by one, but laser rifles were notoriously inaccurate, even when they could be calibrated properly, which he doubted these had. The situation was escalating quickly though, and the time for hiding and planning had long since passed.

                “You ungrateful bitch. Elder Maxson took you in, trained you, promoted you to his own right hand, and you betrayed him. You betrayed all of us, and you dare to-,” El scoffed loudly.

                “Maxson was an entitled child and the rest of you are brainwashed. He was the one who betrayed Danse, tossed him aside like trash!” She retorted. Rhys’s face was beet red now, and Hancock shifted closer to El, debating on whether or not to interfere.

                “I see that your allegiances have shifted too drastically for you to be reasoned with. I thought it was one thing with Danse, but now to see you with this- this feral? Are you gonna fuck Muties next, Carson?” Rhys said, his mouth curling into a disgusting smile at the words. It would turn out to be the last thing he ever said, though, as El raised the rifle with a sharp movement and loosed the shot, which met its mark right between Rhys’s eyes.

                The other two Brotherhood soldiers barely had time to prime their weapons when they met similar fates, El’s shots finding their temples with a deadly accuracy. Hancock blinked, watching as one of their laser rifles skittered across the cracked road, landing just in front of him. His heart was hammering, though he wasn’t sure why; there hadn’t really been any time for him to panic. It was over as soon as it had begun. He turned to look at El, who was standing, white knuckled, in the same place. Her chest heaved as she breathed, air forcing its way in and out of her nose with a sound like a stampeding Deathclaw.

                “El…,” he chanced cautiously, putting aside his own astonishment for the moment. She waved a hand weakly at him, and he came closer to her, glancing over the bodies in front of them.

                “I-I’m fine. It’s okay,” she said through breaths. He could see that she was likely right. Her cheeks still held color, and her hands, while they shook, weren’t unusable. Still, he watched her intently until she pulled her rifle back into her hands and nodded to herself.   

                “Let’s keep moving.” She said, and without a second glance back, she began walking once more.


	42. In Your House of Memories

                El knew Hancock was worried about her. She couldn’t blame him, not really. Not after what had happened. She knew her meager excuses, her simply telling him she was alright would only be sufficient until they stopped for the evening. Once they were alone, without the weight of having to watch for danger weighing on them, he would ask. She knew he deserved an answer.

                She also knew that Knight Rhys had deserved that bullet a very long time ago. He had always been an asshole, someone she would very much have like to hit, given the chance. But he had been a part of Danse’s team, someone he had trusted. She had thought he was dead, lost in the explosion and subsequent crash of the Prydwen. She knew that remnants of the Brotherhood still remained; they had tried to kill her before, using what few resources they had left at their disposal. For her part, she had tried to leave them alone, tried to hide when she noticed them coming.

                It hadn’t been her intention to destroy the Brotherhood. At least not at the beginning. But after seeing how they had treated Danse, and what they did at the Railroad HQ, she knew they would have to be dealt with. And Arthur Maxson only listened to one thing; himself. So that had left only one option; take the Brotherhood out by force. At the time, it had seemed like only one more step towards her goal. Now, it seemed remote; far away as though in another lifetime, another place.

                The sun was beginning to set on the Wastes. She felt lighter now, being out of the Ruins, being able to see farther than the next block. It was almost a comfort to her, though she knew better than to let her guard down. The Wasteland held its own dangers; she of all people knew that.

                “There’s a settlement close. We could probably stay there for the night.” She said as they left the ruins of Lexington behind. Hancock glanced at her, his face unreadable in the dying light.

                “It’s an old drive in Movie Theater. Had a decent number of people there- the last time I visited.” She said, letting her voice get quiet as she spoke. Hancock moved closer to her, coming to walk in step with her. She liked when he was close. She imagined she could feel his warmth, even when they didn’t touch.

                “Sounds good. Though I ain’t picky as far as places to crash go. As long as I don’t get stabbed in the middle of the night.” He said, and she could tell he was trying to make his voice light. She gave him a small smile.

                “Nah, I don’t think you will. Mostly farmers at Starlight. If anything you’d get ground up to use as fertilizer.” She said, trying to make a joke. He let out the barest huff of a laugh.

                They walked in silence until the huge derelict screen appeared over a slight rise. There were lights on, which was good. It meant the generators she had set up were still in working order. She could see people gathered around a cooking fire in the middle of the parking lot. The shacks and structures she had helped build formed a circle around a small watering hole, creating a barrier to the outside world.

                “Hey, it’s me. It’s Ella Carson.” She said, hailing the sentry that stood in the small guard tower near a break in the fence. She could hear a turret humming along behind the man. She felt a small sense of pride at how well they seemed to be doing without her.

                “Ella…Carson? We all thought you were dead. Where you been?” The sentry asked, squinting in the dim light before straightening back up as he saw it was really her. Here it was, the first person she would have to explain things to. She took a breath.

                “I-I’ve been…busy.” She finished feebly, unable to think of anything else to say. She saw Hancock glance at her from her periphery. She knew he would have something to say about that as well.

                “Oh. Okay. Well, it’s uh, good to see you then. Heading to Sanctuary?” The man asked, and she nodded.

                “Yeah, but we need someplace to crash tonight.” She said, and she phrased it as more of a statement of fact than anything else. The guard nodded, though he avoided her gaze.

                “That’s fine, yeah, of course. Only thing is we had to make room for more people, so the place you had set up in the projection booth is…,” he trailed off, obviously embarrassed. She felt her heart jolt a bit at that. She had known things would be different, especially if people thought she was dead. But here it was, the first sign of it. She flapped a hand to dismiss it though.            

                “Don’t worry. You don’t have anyone up on top of the screen, do you?” She asked, and the man shook his head.

                “Good. That’s all we’ll need. Thank you.” She said, and without waiting for anything else to be said, marched passed the guard tower and into the gate. She led Hancock towards the giant screen of the old movie theater and in through the side of it. He followed close, and she could tell he was eager to see where they were going. The stairs inside the screen creaked under their steps, but held, and half way up she stopped and reached behind a beam, finding the duffle bag she had stashed there long ago.

                “What’s that?” Hancock asked, watching as she straightened up and continued the climb.

                “Blankets mostly. I think there might be a pillow in here too, but I’m not sure. I used to come up here a lot, to be alone.” She answered, her voice echoing off the walls of the screen. The sun was almost completely set now, and they made it to the top with only the last rays to guide them. It was just as she had left it; empty, save for a low platform she had built to keep her off the cold metal of the floor.

                “It’s not inside, but it looks clear enough. We don’t have to worry about getting rained on.” She said, opening the bag and pulling out the blankets. They smelled like the inside of the duffel bag, stale and musty. She shook them out, hoping the smell would fade with the air.

                “It’ll work great, Sunshine.” He said, and she heard him start to put down his things. As she finished setting the blankets out, she turned, seeing him watching her, his back leaned against the metal railing.

                “I really am fine, John.” She said, sinking down onto the platform and kicking her boots off. With the sun down, there was a slight chill in the air. She hoped that with the two of them, it wouldn’t get too cold.

                “Are you?” He asked softly, crossing his arms over his chest. She sighed.

                “Yeah. They—he-- deserved it.” She said callously. He raised a brow at her.

                “It’s complicated. Or maybe it’s not. It’s just…,” she searched for words, unable to make him understand. She knew he didn’t like the Brotherhood—hell, only the Brotherhood really liked the Brotherhood. But she also could tell he was curious about how she knew Rhys, and about the implication Rhys had so carelessly made about her and Danse.

                “I didn’t know you were in the Brotherhood.” He said, picking a place to start that she thought he must have seen as an easy way in. She swallowed hard and nodded.

                “Yeah. They were the first people I met that I thought might have any ability to really help me.” She said, her arms draping over her knees as she looked out over the darkening horizon. She thought about lighting a lantern or something, but thought against it. The moon wasn’t full, but it was beginning to cast a glow over the place, and she much preferred that to the glow of firelight.

                “I met Danse on my way to Diamond City. He and his squad were trapped there, being overrun by feral ghouls.” She said, darting a quick look at Hancock to see how he reacted. She wasn’t entirely sure how regular ghouls felt about feral ones. Was it how she felt about regular people that tried to kill her?

                “That’s where I met Rhys, too. Danse liked me, saw that I came to help when I didn’t have to, that I knew what I was doing somewhat. He asked me to join the Brotherhood shortly after that. I said yes because it was all I could think to do at the time.” She explained, wishing he would come sit next to her. He just listened, stationary against the railing.

                “Soon I found out they were a bunch of selfish bigots, though. Their Elder barely more than a kid, with these fucked up ideals and a busted moral compass. But by the time I fully realized it-- really understood the damage they were doing-- I had already let them help me build the relay to get into the Institute. I still needed them. I told myself I would get out, get away when I- if I found my son.” She said, her voice cracking on the last words. Hancock’s gaze sharpened, and he shifted as though to move to her, but he didn’t.

                “When I got back from the Institute, I brought data with me. I gave it to the Brotherhood, but I also took some to the Railroad. See, I had been working with them too, helping them get information on synths so they could help them. For a while, everything was smooth; I was keeping everyone happy, and nothing seemed wrong.” She said, remembering the brief time before she had gone through the relay, when she had seemed to be juggling things perfectly.

                “And then I was called back to the Prydwen. Specially requested by Elder Maxson himself.” She said, not bothering to disguise the disgust in her voice at speaking his name.

                “I thought he would kill me then. He was all worked up, asked me if I was in on it, asked me if I had known all along, sought to make a fool out of him.” She recalled. Hancock did move then, coming to sit next to her on the platform, so they were side by side, each gazing onto the horizon. She felt his warmth, his solidness, and relaxed a little in the telling.

                “Finally he calmed down enough to tell me that they had found Danse’s name among the names of those replaced by synths. He had confronted Danse, and Danse-not knowing or understanding what was going on- had run.” She said. Hancock’s hand slipped into one of hers, and she suddenly felt solid herself. Not so adrift in the sea of remembering.

                “Maxson knew I was working with the Railroad. He knew I never liked how the Brotherhood treated ghouls and synths and the like. So he reveled in the fact that he could order me to kill Danse. And that’s what he did,” she said, her voice soft in the night air. Hancock stirred beside her.

                “He ordered you to kill him?” he asked, and she nodded in response.

                “Yeah. So I tracked him down. He was almost ready to kill himself when I found him. I managed to talk him out of it. I was halfway to convincing him to run away to the Railroad when we heard the Vertibird outside. I knew it was over, knew that even if he didn’t kill me, Maxson would kill Danse in front of me, and it would be done,” she spoke solemnly, remembering that day. It had been raining, the sound of it muffled in the bunker Danse was holed up in. She remembered thinking how the rain steamed off Maxson’s coat, hot from his movements, but he had looked like nothing short of a demon to her.

                “Somehow I managed to talk my way out of it. Talk Danse’s way out. Maxson left with the threat that if Danse was ever seen by the Brotherhood again, he’d be shot on sight. But he was allowed to live. For all it was worth.” She said.

                “Did he not want to live?” Hancock asked, now invested in the story. El shook her head slightly.

                “His whole life was the Brotherhood. Everything he knew. Hell, Maxson was his best friend, his leader, his confidant. Suddenly that was all gone. It took a long time until he felt like his own person. But eventually he did. I hope he still does.” She said. Hancock was quiet, waiting for her to go on.

                “Maxson--I should have known he wouldn’t leave it alone. He was pissed, and took it out on me by… by storming the Railroad HQ. He and his troops killed and injured and destroyed all they had worked so hard to build. All because of me.” And her voice wavered now, remembering the carnage she had come into. Remembering Glory as she died in her arms, the words of a curse dying on her lips. For the first time since she began the story, her eyes welled with tears.

                “When the dust cleared and we regrouped, the Railroad was only a shell of what it had been. But they wanted revenge. I needed their help, to finish what I started with the Institute, so I decided I would take it upon myself to give them what they wanted.” She explained. She took a deep breath.

                “It took some doing. I wore a suit of Power Armor so I wouldn’t be recognized. I planted explosive charges along key points of the Prydwen’s structure. I was so close to finishing what I came to do when fucking Arthur Maxson caught me. I was just about to board a Vertibird, one piloted by a Railroad agent, when he grabbed me, suited up in his own Power Armor. I yelled at Tom to go, to get out of there. He did, but that left me with Maxson. He knew I had done something, and raised the alarm. But I couldn’t let it all be in vain.” She was going now, the story coming unbidden to her lips as she remembered.

                “I grabbed him and flung us off the Prydwen. Midway down I hit the button. The whole thing went up like it was doused in lighter fluid. I thought I would die from the shockwave, let alone the fall. But I didn’t. Neither did Maxson.” She spoke quietly, and Hancock leaned closer, coming so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

                “We grappled in the muck as pieces of burning wreckage started to slam down around us. It-it was like fighting in hell. There was smoke and explosions and screaming, but I couldn’t pay attention to that, because Maxson was trying very, very hard to kill me. It was only sheer dumb luck that he didn’t. There was too much smoke. It was choking us, blinding, hot. I was able to get on top of him and draw my sidearm without him noticing.” She remembered his eyes, bloodshot and crazed, staring forever into the smoky haze after she had pulled the trigger.

                “I don’t know how they found out it was me. Maybe someone saw us fighting, maybe someone saw Maxson grab me before I got on the Vertibird, someone who somehow survived. But after that, any time someone from the Brotherhood saw me, they would try to kill me. Until today.” She finished, hoping she wouldn’t have to keep talking. She was desperately tired, and her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to lie down next to Hancock, and try not to think about the next day.

                “So when I say I’m alright, John, I mean it. Rhys—those soldiers—they weren’t good people. They had their chance. And I really don’t like bigots.” She said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

                “Alright, Sunshine. I believe you,” he said. They lay down in the nest of blankets, and with only a few more words, resigned themselves to sleep.

 


	43. There's No Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter about going home.

 

 

                He woke to the first rays of the sun warming his face, and to El’s fingers lightly caressing his own. He lay with his eyes closed for a few more moments, but knew El must know he was awake. Her fingers traced the long lines of his hands, stopping at knuckles and callouses- touching as though to memorize them. He let his hand close lightly over hers, feeling the soft warmth of her skin against his rough palms. He cracked an eye to observe her. She was laying on her side, facing him, her eyes like the color of the leaves of the tree he had brought her.

                “Do you feel it? When we touch?” She asked, and her voice was barely more than a whisper. His heart jumped a bit at that. He had been right in his assumptions, then. It wasn’t just him that felt the electricity—the current—that ran between them.

                “Yes.” He answered simply, voice still rough from sleep. She made a soft humming noise in her throat, as though pleased.

                “I thought it was just me. Just something left over from being so messed up on the chems,” she said, her voice darkening a bit as she spoke. He pulled their linked hands up, pressing a kiss to the back of hers.

                “Not just you,” he said softly, wanting to kiss her, to capture her mouth with his. They hadn’t kissed, not since that night. Not since he had touched her, felt her come apart in his hands. There had been too much to do, too much to think about. And he knew that with the thoughts of her impending reunion with everyone, and having to find explanations for where she had been, that the memories of what had happened to her would be close to the surface.

                So they had been cautious. The intimacy they shared was one of simple closeness, of forehead kisses and hand holding; of limbs twined together in sleep. It was an intimacy that hadn’t been tainted by the Raiders, not really. If there was one thing that he could be thankful for (and thankful seemed the wrong word for it), it was that the Raiders had not tried to make anything more from what they took from her. There had been no pretense with them. They had used her, and that was it. It meant that the small things, the little secret touches and caresses they shared were theirs alone.

                The day was rising warm and sunny as they began walking again. El told him it was only about two hours or so til they reached Sanctuary, if they didn’t meet with any obstacles. He was anxious to be there, if only for her own sake. He wanted the whole thing to be over with, the telling, the explaining. He knew that once it was all out, she would feel better. Things could start to move forward.

                He hoped that he was right about the people she had helped, the people she surrounded herself with before all this happened. He hoped that they would welcome her back, simply be happy to see her. He knew she thought that they would be upset, angry at being abandoned. But he was hopeful that the people she had given so much to would be able to see what had really happened; that they would be able to understand.

                They had made their way without incident down a winding stretch of cracked highway, mostly staying quiet each lost in their own thoughts. He almost didn’t notice when she stopped walking. He turned, noticing the lack of her footfalls, to find her staring up at an old rusted road sign.

                “El?” He asked, coming up beside her. She was stone faced as she looked at it, and it set his teeth on edge. He turned his gaze from her face to the sign, and realized why she looked the way she did.

                “We can skirt around it if you want, El.” He said, his mouth suddenly dry. The sign was faded, the green paint peeling and worn with age and weather. But in white letters, still clearly legible, read: CONCORD.

                “No. That’s dumb. It would add time to the trip. I’m- I’m fine.” She said, shaking her head as though to erase the thoughts that gathered there. He looked dubiously at her.

                “El, it’s fine, we don’t have to-,” he began, but she flapped a hand at him.

                “No. It’s okay. Let’s go,” she said, and marched ahead, her spine forced straight as she walked. He swallowed, trying to dispel the knot that gathered in his chest suddenly. What if Raiders still lingered here? He couldn’t see why they wouldn’t. Yet as they came into the main drag of the small town, it was quiet. He caught the faint stench of decay, and wondered if the bodies of the Raiders El had killed were still here somewhere, festering in the heat of the sun.

                “I was here.” She said, not stopping, but slowing her gait. He was beside her, and almost jumped as her voice came, high and clear in the quiet air.

                “I was here and they popped out. An ambush. I killed four of them I think. But I wasn’t fast enough. Or maybe I was, and I had just…just given up,” she said, letting her voice fall a pitch. They passed a large building with a balcony that looked out over the long stretch of road. He could see sandbags and debris lining the streets, acting as cover for the ambush she spoke of.

                “I think they hit me. Or maybe they drugged me. But the next thing I knew I woke up in a building. I knew I wasn’t in Concord anymore, though I don’t know how I knew it. I could just feel I was someplace else. Someplace I didn’t want to be.” She picked her way over a large rend in the concrete, boots skittering on dust and pebbles. He was on high alert, listening for any sign of anything that could go wrong. But it was just silent, save for the soft murmur of the wind through the ancient buildings.

                “And _he_ was there. Looking at me like some kind of trophy. Like he had won the lottery. I told him to kill me. I swore, cursed, begged. I wanted him to put a bullet in me so badly. It all seemed so perfect. I had wanted to die, and here it was, staring me in the face. But he didn’t,” she said, her voice wavering only slightly. His rational mind fought with the part of him that didn’t want to hear it. The part that told him to cover his ears, to pretend what she was telling him wasn’t true. He knew she needed to tell it, get certain things out. He also knew just how cathartic that could be. It didn’t make hearing it any easier.

                “He laughed. Told me that maybe he’d kill me later, but I was too nice to waste like that,” she spoke with a detachment he didn’t like, but listened nonetheless. They were coming to the end of the main street, and the town turned from old shops into suburbs. He could see the break where the town fell away and opened back into the Wastes. He found himself wanting to speed up towards it.

                “The first few days I was convinced I could force him to kill me. That I could taunt him, make enough trouble, wear him down. But for every terrible thing I said or did, he came back with something ten times worse,” she finished. He saw her shoulders slump a little, and she didn’t speak any more. For his part, he wasn’t sure what he should say, if anything. She solved the issue for him as they came out of the city, beginning to climb up a slight hill.

                “This is the closest I’ve been to Sanctuary since before I went to the Institute.” She said, and he noted that her voice was more hopeful than anything. She didn’t seem to be upset, maybe a bit nervous, but her voice was strong, her back straight. They had never spoken of what happened in the Institute, save what everyone knew about it. He knew from his conversation with Deacon, and just from getting to know El, that the Institute, and what had led her to go there, was something she had never divulged.

                “It’ll be alright, El,” he said, simply for a lack of anything else to say. She shot him a quick smile, but turned her gaze back quickly to the surrounding area. The Wasteland spring was in full effect, though that meant little. Still, there was more growth from the weeds and small flowers that were hardy enough to take root in the radiated soil. It broke up the dull greys and browns the Wasteland typically showed.

                Another 10 minutes of walking had them passing an old Red Rocket station. El gave it the barest of glances but didn’t stop. He could see that it had been cleared though, and a spit over a burned out fire sat around the side of the building. He wondered if she had done it, or if someone else spent their time at the place. He didn’t have time to wonder long; they rounded a bend and found themselves in front of a rickety wooden bridge. A few turrets sat on either side of it, the first defense of Sanctuary.

                He thought he could feel El’s tension through the air. She didn’t stop walking, but her pace slowed as she lowered her weapon, taking her first tentative steps back home in a long time.


	44. What Do You See My Blue Eyed Son?

                Hancock had about a million questions for El.

                He knew it wasn’t the right time, not after she had just said goodbye to Preston, not after having a few pieces of not so great news dropped on her. He was buzzing though. Wanted to know everything. He had never been to this part of the Commonwealth, never knew Sanctuary existed before he began hearing about it over the Radio a year or so before.

                It was a nice place, fairly well fortified. As they strode over a grassy meadow towards El’s cabin, he could see a low wall that paralleled the river, could see the wall they had built against the forest behind them. They had done well here. He wanted to ask about the Minutemen, wanted to know about her settlements, about the people she helped. He wanted to know who Garvey was, about the house they had passed, the one he had said had been hers.

                All of his questions vanished, however, as she pressed her weight against the door to the cabin. It scraped open on rusted hinges, making a god-awful noise that rattled his teeth. He made to follow her inside, but she had stopped midway through the door, her knuckles white on the handle.

                There, in the middle of the room, was a pile of Pre- War junk. He wouldn’t have thought much about it, except for the crib that stood in the middle of it all; still bright blue and remarkably sound for something 200 years old.

                El was staring at it as though it might explode. He placed a hand lightly on her arm, and she jerked, though not in fear. Instead, she turned as though remembering he was there for the first time. She moved farther into the room, and he followed her, shoving the door shut behind him.

                The place was cluttered, bits and pieces of weapons and armor strewn about, as well as various Pre- War items she had obviously been collecting. It was a rather large room, with another off to the side; he could see a door towards the far end of the area. There was a bed; the metal frame covered in miscellaneous pieces of cloth, tied in knots and strung between the slats. Probably to keep it from squeaking. There was a wooden dresser, with only one of the drawers missing, and boxes—so many boxes stacked here and there around the room.

                El was circling the small stack of things in the middle of the room, her eyes glued to the crib. He watched as she reached into it, her hand lightly skimming the frame. She pulled out a square piece of cardboard, still brightly colored in the dim light of the cabin. No, it wasn’t cardboard. He could see now as she flipped a page that it was a book. A kid’s book, if he had to say.

                “El?” he asked, unsure of what to do. Her hands were shaking; he could see them from where he stood. She kept flipping pages, kept her eyes glued to it.

                “Sunshine, are you alright?” he tried again, and this time, she looked up from the book, her eyes finding his. She smiled, the corners of her mouth rising just a bit. She let the book close, and brought it close to her chest, holding it there.

                “I- I guess I should bring this stuff to Sturges. He can break it down and we can use it for something else,” she said, her eyes flitting back to the crib. Hancock felt his heart give a nasty lurch. He knew she had a husband and a son. She had told him what happened to her husband, that he had died, been murdered before she woke up. She hadn’t ever mentioned what had happened to her son.

                “Did- did you ever find him? Your son?” he asked, unsure if it was the right thing to do. More than likely she had never mentioned it because she hadn’t wanted to, and now, for him to bring it up here, standing in front of what were obviously the kid’s things…

                “I found him. Yeah.” She said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. Hancock felt the blood in his veins run cold at her words. If she had found him—and he wasn’t here— he had to be dead, right?

                “He was in the Institute. He was there when I blew it up,” she said, and with a tearful voice, began to speak.

                She told him everything. She told him about watching Kellogg kill her husband and take her infant son from his arms. She told him about her hunt for Kellogg, about finding out that Shaun probably wasn’t a baby anymore—that too much time had passed. She told him about the Glowing Sea, about Virgil, about Nick Valentine and the Railroad. She told him about finally getting into the Institute. And she told him about finding her son, no longer a little boy, but a full grown man, and the Director of the Institute.

                “I tried. I really did. I wanted him to come away with me, to leave that place and all the fucked up shit he had done there. I—I couldn’t be his mother anymore. He was old enough to be my father, he didn’t need me. But I still couldn’t watch as he did all these terrible things, took people, replaced them, used synths as tools for his own gain…” she said, her voice steadying as she neared the end. They had moved to the bed now, and sat side by side. She still clutched the book in her arms, as though it gave her comfort in the telling.

                “But he refused. He knew what the Railroad was gonna do. He knew the place was going to go up; the reactor was going to blow. But he refused to leave. He told me he hated me. That I had destroyed everything. That—that he was glad I hadn’t gotten the chance to be his mother, because I was weak.” Her voice caught on the last words, coming out as barely more than a whisper. He wanted to gather her to him, to pull her close and tell him he had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. He was furious, his heart pounding in anger towards a man he would never know, a man who was long dead.

                “And then I blew it up. I was on the roof with Deacon and some of the other Railroad guys, and we had gotten out as many synths as we could and I just pushed the button. I killed him. I killed my son.” She spoke with such despair that Hancock could feel his chest tighten. He was an idiot. Why was he always bringing up shit that was better left buried?

                “When the dust cleared-- when I was left with the reality of everything that had happened, of the fact I had poured everything I had into a year of searching, fighting, dreaming of getting my son back, when I realized that I was left with nothing, that everything was gone and I had nothing left—well, I gave up,” she said. It explained everything. He knew, sure, that she had been through a lot. Hell, just waking up 200 years in the future to a world shittier than the one you left was enough to drive anyone to want to not exist anymore. But to not only lose the place you knew, but also your friends, husband, family in one fell swoop, and then to find the small light, the only hope you had at getting anything back from that life, was actually a monster. Oh yes. He could very much see why being captured by Raiders had seemed like a blessing to her.

                “I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he said, feeling even as he said the words that they were woefully inadequate. She shot him a quick, sad smile, holding the book back in front of her.

                “Well. I knew coming back here would be hard. Nothing to do but go forward, right?” she said, and her tone of cautious optimism surprised him.

                “Yeah. Forward it is,” he said, and planted a soft kiss on her brow.

 


	45. Waiting For a Friend to Call and Say Their Still Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I'm so sorry for this update taking forever, work has been so crazy lately. Also, I had to re-write a bunch of the stuff coming up and that took a while as well. Here's hoping I can make up for it in the next few chapters.

               The Red Rocket station was eerily quiet as she approached, the light of deep afternoon dulling the colors and bathing everything in gold. She was nervous, though she was unsure why. Danse was her friend, had been the first friend she had made in this place. But perhaps that was why the pit of her stomach felt as though a rock had dropped into it; he would be the hardest to explain things to.

                She had come alone. Ever since the incident with Maxson and the Brotherhood’s demise, she was unsure of how to broach things with Danse. At one time, she had hoped to help him accept who he was; accept others he had once hated so much. But that seemed like a lifetime ago now.

                Listening Post Bravo seemed to have happened to someone else, as though she had watched it in an old Holotape or something. She could remember Danse, looking so small and fragile without his Power Armor, the pistol pressed to his temple. She didn’t remember exactly what she had said, but she remembered the flood of relief when he handed her the weapon, his shoulders slumping as he leaned his weight against her, the closest thing to a hug she was ever to get from the man.

                And she remembered Maxson. Coat steaming in the rain that had begun to fall, face set in betrayal and hatred, determined to finish what she couldn’t. She had expected both of them to die there, but her quick thinking had gotten them out of it; or so she thought.

                She ran over the last time she had seen Danse in her mind as she came around the building to the door to the garage. It had been right after she had killed Maxson—after the destruction of the Prydwen. She hadn’t apologized, didn’t give him platitudes or excuses. He knew it had to be done. But she knew that there was a part of him that blamed her for everything that had happened; and wasn’t that the truth?

                “I knew you weren’t dead.” Danse spoke from behind her, making her jump and whirl on him. He put his hands up, his eyes searching her face with an intensity that came from years of training. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt—so incongruous to how she had come to think of him. He wore a beard as well, close cut and neat, but thick enough to obscure the bottom portion of his face. It suited him.

                “How?” She felt herself ask, watching as he let his hands fall to his sides. He was watching her, the intensity of his gaze almost uncomfortable.

                “You took out the entirety of the Brotherhood and the Institute. I doubt there is very much in this world that could kill you.” He answered, speaking with a tone she wasn’t sure she liked. Still, she let a small smile come to her face.

                “What happened to you, Carson?” He asked, though it wasn’t asked with the formality he typically had. There was a softness to it, a concern.

                “Danse, I-I can’t-,” she trailed off, unsure of how to explain—unsure if she wanted to.

                “Bad?” He asked, almost a whisper. He stepped forward, eyes still trained on her. She knew she had changed; could see it in the way Preston had looked at her, the reaction Deacon had given when he saw her in the Statehouse. She didn’t want to think her captivity would have a lasting impression—but it was hard to deny it was visible.

                “Ambushed by Raiders in Concord. They had me for the better part of two months. It was…,” Again, she found she couldn’t continue, her thoughts unable to form the words to explain. Instead, she raised her arm to the neckline of her shirt and pulled, bringing the pinkish lines of the scars into view. Danse’s eyes flicked from her chest, back to her face, his look of unnerving intensity softening. It wasn’t pity, no. It was understanding.

                “We should have looked harder. We should have—I’m sorry, Ella.” He said, and her name sounded foreign coming from him. She shook her head.

                “Don’t be. I’m alright. Or I will be.” She said. He nodded, eyes still glued to her, as though if he looked away from her, she might disappear. She pressed her shirt back into place and cleared her throat.

                “You came here with a ghoul.” He said, though without any tone to his voice that could clue her into as to how he felt about it. She narrowed her eyes at him and nodded.

                “John Hancock. He’s the mayor of Goodneighbor.” She said, ready to launch into a defense, as she had many times before with Danse. The Brotherhood had brainwashed him, made him think that synths and ghouls were subhuman—something to be exterminated. It was one of the reasons that finding out he himself was a synth had almost destroyed him.

                “He- he helped you?” He asked tentatively. She knew it was because referring to a ghoul as a “he” and not “it” was new for him. But it was a step in the right direction.

                “Yes. He did.” She said, choosing to leave just how much Hancock had helped her for later. Danse nodded, contemplating. They were standing in the yard of the old gas station, and suddenly she felt very exposed, too open. She wanted to head inside, or go back to Hancock—but she owed Danse this.

                She and Danse had never been romantically involved, despite what Rhys had so carelessly implied. They had gotten close, sure. Or as close as she could get to anyone when all that had been on her mind for the last year was hunting down her son. In a different world, they might have had something, might have taken their friendship to the next logical step. But here, in this reality, they had kept things strictly platonic. Still, she felt she owed something to all the people she had been taken from; regardless of whether it was her fault or not.

                “I’ve been trying, Ella. Trying to-,”

                “Just call me El, Danse. Or Carson. Please.” She interrupted, her name causing a small jolt of panic to surge through her as things were so close to the surface. She tried not to think about the hold Rex still had on her.

                “I- I just wanted you to know, I’ve been trying to be… better. We’ve been working so hard-,”   

                “We?” El cut him off, curious. Danse nodded, his gaze shifting to focus on something behind El.

                “Yes, we.” Came a soft voice, and El whirled to find Curie standing there, obviously just come in from the road. She smiled at El, who couldn’t help but return the expression. Curie’s happiness was infectious.

                “I ‘ad just heard you were back. I came as fast as I could.” She said, speaking in her incongruous French accent. El watched as she moved around the lot, coming to stand next to Danse—rather close to him, actually.

                “I was just telling El how we were… working on things. Together.” Danse said, gazing down at Curie with an expression that left no doubt as to the relationship between the two of them. El couldn’t help the smile on her face at the sight.

                “That’s… unexpected.” She said, watching a soft pink blush bloom over Curie’s cheeks. She looked up at Danse, who towered over her, and laughed.

                “Oui, well. We… needed each other. After losing you.” She said, turning to look back at El, who began to feel her own cheeks burn, though not in embarrassment.

                “Yeah, well… at least something good came out of it.” She said, trying to focus on the now, though she could feel her heart beginning to race once more. Curie stepped forward, noticing the change.

                “Come along. Let’s ‘ead back home.” She said, taking El’s arm in hers. El allowed her to be her guide as the three of them quietly headed back up the road, and into Sanctuary once more.


	46. Radio War

                Word spread fast for a place with no way to communicate long distances other than by radio, which was sketchy at best, downright unusable at worst. The next day saw an arrival of people that had the whole settlement buzzing. Nick Valentine, Piper Wright, and even Deacon came rolling in, all around the same time, early morning.

                El had spent the day before embroiled in getting back into the swing of things. She had introduced herself to most of the settlers that were new to her, and had gone to speak with Danse. This last she had done alone, much to his chagrin. She had insisted that she would be fine, that Danse was a good guy, wouldn’t hurt her or try anything, but that he was still breaking down the brainwashing that the Brotherhood had left him with. Seeing her back from the dead, and walking around with a ghoul wasn’t likely to produce the results she was looking for. When she came back from speaking with Danse, she was pleased to report that he had been spending time with a woman named Curie, a doctor and-she informed him- a robot-turned-synth. El seemed to think that the two of them spending time together was good for Danse, and her lightened mood had put him at ease.

                He was in awe of her, watching her work. She was like a different person, though that might not be giving her enough credit. He could see she was the same person, but the responsibility she felt for others brought out a side of her he had only seen once; when she had come to get him from the Combat Zone, when he had watched her move through the Raiders like they were nothing.

                It had been uncomfortable, the explaining. She hadn’t lied, hadn’t sugarcoated what had happened. But she hadn’t gone into detail either. Raiders had ambushed and kidnapped her. They had held her in the Ruins for months. She had escaped and spent the last month and a half or so “recuperating” in Goodneighbor. She left out the suicide attempts. She left out the rape. She left out the scars that crisscrossed her body, not visible beneath the long sleeves and pants she wore.

                For the most part, the general air had been one of happiness and relief. She truly was missed by everyone, and they had been devastated by her loss. But he could see the looks shot her way when she wasn’t looking. The curiosity and pity that came to some of their faces as they watched her. Deacon had told him she looked different, and he supposed she still must. They had made progress on getting food into her, on getting her healthy again, but that sort of thing took time. He could tell by the covert glances and whispers that it wasn’t only Deacon who noticed.

                El seemed happy, however. They were gathered in a large circle, around a bonfire that Sturges had started. Sturges was a good guy, sturdy. A handyman, El had said. He sat on the far side of the circle, engaged in conversation with Preston. The smell of roasting meat and smoking tatos wafted through the air, a celebratory meal for El’s homecoming. She had tried to get out of it, tried to make excuses, but they had been ignored. It was most certainly a party.

                El joked with Deacon, who sat on the other side of her. He treated her like a kid sister, though Hancock could see how his eyes lingered on her, trying to see if she was still the same person she had been. He really wished everyone would cut it out, would stop before she caught one of the looks. He knew how she would feel if she saw it. He knew she would feel like she had to pretend, like she had to try to be the same person she had been. He knew that wouldn’t be good for her. Not now.

                “And then she marches up to Skinny Malone and his Triggermen, this tiny, ratty pipe pistol in her hands and demands he let me go!” Nick Valentine was saying, his story drifting through the smoky air around them. Night had fallen, and they were all comfortably lounged around the fire, sipping booze and waiting for the food to be done. El was watching him tell the story, a small grin plastered on her face.

                “Skinny has no idea what to do. He’s standing there, dumbstruck, when the broad he had convinced to run away with him comes up with this baseball bat. El takes one look at her, asks her if her parents know where she is. The girl is so confused she actually drops the bat and leaves! I tell ya’ it was the wildest thing. She didn’t even have to fire a shot. We just walked right out,” he finished, to scattered applause. Hancock couldn’t help feel a bit of pride in her. She had come so far.

                “We’re glad you’re back, Blue.” Piper called, raising a bottle of some indeterminate liquor in the air. Others followed suit, toasting her. He could see the flush of red in her cheeks, glowing in the firelight. He felt her hand slip into his, warm and small and soft. Her thumb began to stroke his fingers, slowly, sensually, so incongruous with the atmosphere around him that he almost drew his hand away. He didn’t however, but let their linked hands slide farther backwards, to avoid being seen.

                For his part, he had mostly been quiet. People knew who he was, hell, in the case of Nick and Deacon, they were friends with him. But this was her show, her party. Plus there was the added fact that neither of them had known how to explain their relationship to the others. He supposed everyone could decide for themselves how they wanted to see them. Although, if El kept stroking his fingers like that there might not be any question…

                As the night grew longer, people began ducking out, murmuring goodnights before stumbling off to find their beds. El had curled against him, her head heavy on the curve of his shoulder. Her hand had left his, but was placed ever so lightly against his thigh. Whenever he looked at it, shivers ran up and down his spine. The closeness, the intimacy, even in front of all these people; it excited him.

                At long last, El stirred, standing up and brushing herself off. He followed her, slightly reluctant to lose the heat of her against him. He knew they’d be pressed together again soon, as they slept, but he still couldn’t help but feel the loss. She waved at the few who still lingered, promising to see them all the next day before turning to make the walk towards the cabin. He kept in step with her, and as they left the last light of the fire, he felt her hand slip into his once more. Her grip was solid, firm and he was surprised by it. He wondered if something had happened, something he had missed. If she was upset or nervous.

                All of the speculation in his mind died away as the door to the cabin scraped closed and she turned to him, her face flushed and her eyes wide.

                “John… touch me again,” she said, and it was like all the air had been knocked out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, cliffhanger!!!


	47. It Was Always You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I've written and re-written this scene a lot, gone over it a ton, and here it is. I can't mess with it any more. So here we go!

El hadn’t been sure if it was the safety she felt, being among all her friends and settlers, at a place she had liked to call home, or if it had been the closeness of Hancock to her, the way he watched her and stayed beside her. She couldn’t figure out what had triggered the sudden longing for him in her as they sat around the fire that night. But it had come, and it had come hard.

                It had been all she could do simply to touch him, to make conversation as he sat so close to her, unaware about what she was thinking. It had been so hard to carry on with Deacon, to engage Nick in his stories, when all that ran through her mind was his fingers on her, his lips tracing soft kisses down her neck…

                And now they were finally away. She was staring at him, seeing what his response would be to her urging, her asking for him to touch her again. She wanted to feel him, to lose herself under his hands again. It had been a week, and she couldn’t keep waking from the dreams-- her thighs slick and her core ebbing with remembered waves of pleasure,--right next to him. She wanted it in waking life now. She needed it.

                “Are you sure?” he asked, and she was relieved that he hadn’t outright refused her.

                “Yes.” She answered, breathless. He was giving her the strangest look, as though he was calculating, deciding if she meant it, how best to start.

                “I-I’ve been… dreaming,” she said, moving to sit on the bed. He took off his hat and coat, tossing them onto a random stack of boxes in the corner before turning again to face her.

                “I noticed,” he said, and she felt her cheeks flush hotter.

                “You did? Wh-,” she started, embarrassed. He chuckled.

                “I sleep right next to you, Sunshine. You might think you’re being quiet, but you aren’t,” he said through a grin that cut her to the core. She looked away, bashful. He came carefully over, moving slowly so he stood in front of her, his hand coming up to cup her chin. He tilted her face up so she gazed into his huge black eyes.

                “I dream too, El,” he said, though it was unnecessary. She knew; had woken many a time to his body oddly angled away from her, to him carefully adjusting himself in the pants he wore for sleeping.

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. After what seemed like a long time, he knelt in front of her, so she now looked down at him. His face was suffused with such an endearing sweetness that she lost all thought for a moment.

                “Can I taste you?” he asked, his voice so soft she almost couldn’t hear it. Her breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart slamming so hard she thought it would burst through her ribs. She swallowed hard, trying to imagine the feeling of his tongue on her, how it would be. She thought it would be alright; the Raiders had not worried about pleasuring her, this was something that would be their own as well.

                “Yes…please,” and she added the last word like a prayer. He smiled at her, so gently.

                “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, and she knew he meant it. He kissed her, his lips pressed to hers with a heat that excited her. He was careful where his hands went, careful not to lean into her, to stay below her. She felt him start to unbutton the flannel shirt she wore, fingers deft on the worn buttons. Her heart echoed every small _pop_ they made. As he reached the last button, she shimmied it off her shoulders, shivering as it landed on the bed, leaving only a ratty tank top between her and the night air.

                “You are so… incredible.” Hancock whispered, his fingers trailing lightly down her arms, down the curve of her ribs, stopping where the hem of her shirt met her waist. She leaned into him, letting him slip the garment off over her head. She fought the instinct to draw her arms up, to cover herself. Instead she focused on Hancock’s face, on the indescribable look that ran through his eyes. It was as much confirmation that he found her attractive as any words could ever be.

                She drew his hand up in her own, placing a light kiss on the rough knuckles before pressing it to her breast. She felt her nipples draw up, round and hard at the attention and gasped. He let his fingers trace over the sensitive bud of her, watching her face as he did so. El’s skin was hot, her pulse throbbing so hard she could swear she could feel it farther south, pounding out the need of him.

                She put her own fingers to the clasp of her pants, slipping the cloth over the metal. Hancock drew his hands away from her chest, and pulled her hands away from what she was doing. He leaned forward, kissing her lips before trailing down her neck, over her collarbone, between her breasts and over the flat of her stomach, ending where her pants—now unfastened—began.

                She wore no underwear—people in the Wasteland rarely did. It was a luxury few could afford, and fewer could afford to keep clean. This meant that now, as Hancock’s mouth came below her belly button, she could begin to feel his breath tickle the soft dark hairs of her. She shivered, and he froze, but when she said nothing—and he saw no protest in her eyes—he continued.

                He hooked his fingers in the band of her pants close to her hips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he eased them down, over the round of her ass, down the expanse of her thighs, before finally tugging them over her calves and off. Once again, she sat naked before him. And once again, she felt the thrill of electricity thrumming through her, her heart hammering so fast she worried she would pass out.

                “You alright there, Sunshine?” he asked, checking in.

                “Y-yes. God, yes,” she murmured, and he chuckled. She could feel the breath of it dance lightly over her thighs and shivered. His hands moved gracefully, sliding up her legs and over the scarred flesh of her thighs with a touch that only lighted on the smooth parts of her. She loved how he ignored the scars, focused on what was still whole, not what had been changed.

                He grasped her calves, right behind her knees and gently pulled her forward, so she sat close to the edge of the bed, her legs hanging over on either side of him. She was propped on an elbow, watching him work. He nudged her legs farther apart, and she felt the cool air mingle with the heat of her and gasped, her eyes slamming shut at the temperature change.

                And then his mouth was on her.

                She almost jerked, the sensation startling and so very satisfying. She let out an embarrassing moan, her hands grasping the threadbare sheet on the bed. His mouth was hot, impossibly hot against her. His tongue worked her most sensitive parts, every now and then he would pull back slightly and lave the whole of her, making her buck up against his mouth. His hands were wound around her thighs, not holding her down, but grounding her.

                “John-,” she breathed, her mind focused only on the sensation between her legs. He was good—very good—at what he was doing. She glanced down as one of his hands left her thighs, noticing the small, furtive movements he made just out of her sight. Could he really be—?

                He was. He moaned against her, the vibrations almost sending her over the edge. His mouth worked in time with his arm, sending her into paroxysms of ecstasy. She was very, very close to losing it when she suddenly sat up, body moving seemingly of its own accord. She grasped the collar of his shirt, almost making him lose his balance. His head jerked up, eyes suddenly alert and on her. She pulled him towards her.

                “Now, John. I want you now,” she breathed, trying to bring him to her before she lost her nerve. His shirt was untucked, hanging over his hand which was still grasping his cock. He let her pull him a little more, his free hand planting itself beside her, propping him over her.

                “Sunshine, are you sure?” he asked, coming low over her so she felt the breath of his words brush her skin. He was poised, ready; she felt the tip of his cock brushing oh so gently over the curls between her thighs.

                And then it was Rex above her.

                She must have stiffened; her face must have changed, because he drew away from her. Her breath caught in her throat and the vision of the Raider over her vanished as fast as the time it took for him to move off of her. He rolled over on the bed, so his back pressed against the wood of the cabin walls, legs out before him. His hands were gripped tight in the fabric of his pants, still loose from being undone.

                “I’m sorry, I-,” she breathed, flipping to face him. His eyes were pressed shut, and she could see the heaving breaths he took.

                “Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for, El,” he finally said. His words did nothing to quell the knot of rage and guilt that burned in her chest. Why was it this hard? All she wanted was him, the feel of him deep inside her. Even now as she pulled herself closer to him, she could feel the ache, the need burning within her. He was still breathing hard, his hands now rubbing the length of his thighs as though trying to dispel sweat that had gathered there.

                She moved to him, still wanting to feel his warmth, the closeness of him against her. He let her, though he made no move to touch her, allowing her to sit in his lap. She could feel how tense he was, and she felt the wave of guilt wash over her again. He was exercising control over himself. That was what he was doing. She could feel the hard length of him against her side, still there, still urgent…

                She found with a calm sort of detachment that she wasn’t afraid, wasn’t uncomfortable feeling him so close to her now. She reached down, very, very slowly, and gently ran a finger up his cock, hidden still by the loose fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched violently in his throat, and his hand went to hers. He didn’t take it away, just stilled it.

                “El, don’t-,” he began, but she cut him off with a kiss. She moved achingly slowly, waiting to see if the memories came to her. But she was in front of him, she was on top. She was in control, and the only face she saw swimming in her vision was Hancock’s. She was straddling him now, her naked skin pressed against the cloth of his pants. He was shaking, just a bit. She could feel it in his lips as they parted.

                “I’m okay,” she whispered, and wondered if she was reassuring him, or herself. His eyes followed hers, watching, wondering if she told the truth. He was sitting so still, the only movement of him the rise and fall of his chest, and the occasional twitch of his cock against the heat of her. She let her hands fall to the hem of his shirt, fingers curling underneath and began to draw it up. Inch by inch she revealed him, his stomach, chest, shoulders- until he raised his arms and let her pull it over his head. She touched his skin lightly, letting her fingers trace the grooves and scars of him.

                He was watching her, his eyes glued to her face as she moved her hands slowly over him. She could feel his heartbeat in the tips of her fingers, a deep, hard, pounding thrum beneath her. His cock was uncovered now, and she glanced down to see it nestled between her thighs. She brought her hand to it, running her thumb tentatively over the tip. It was smooth and hot to the touch, and she ran her fingers over the length of it, thrilling as she felt Hancock’s breath catch as she did.

                She continued to touch him, eyes flitting from what she was doing to his face. His eyes were screwed shut, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he breathed hard. She swallowed hard, feeling her resolve steel, her nerves calm. She raised herself, just slightly and guided the tip of him to her. She was wet, still dripping from the attention of his mouth. Before he could move, and before she could think of anything else, she was lowering herself onto him, the thick heat of him filling her up with a slowness that she thought might just kill her.

                Hancock let out an unearthly sound beneath her, something between a growl and a moan. She felt her own breath gasp from her lips as she moved, finally sheathing him fully within her.

                She had thought it was going  to hurt; thought the first time willingly doing this again with someone would be something to get over with, something to get past on the way to something better. But all she felt was the thick weight of him, filling her, causing tiny pulses of electricity to shoot down her thighs. They were still for a long time, though she could feel him twitch and press against her. It was all he could do not to take her, not to flip her over and ram himself into her- and she could feel it.

                “El,” he breathed, his head leaned back against the wall of the cabin. Only now she realized how quiet it was, the only sounds around them the noises of the night outside, and their own breathing, harsh and ragged with desire.

                “W-where-,” he started, and then swallowed hard, “-can I touch you?”

                She knew what he meant at once. It was why he was so still, the only link between them where they joined, and her calves pressed against the length of his thighs. His hands were balled to the sides of them in the sheet, knuckles white with the effort of keeping them off her. He didn’t want to mess up. Didn’t want to touch her in a way that might bring the past back up.

                “Not…here,” she said, raising a shaking hand to the base of her neck. He nodded, ever so slightly, waiting. She moved her hand to her hair, grasping the strands that hung over her shoulder from her ponytail.

                “Not here,” she breathed again, and moved her hands to his arms, pulling his hands into her own. Gently she rested them on her hips, just above the bones that stuck out there. He was warm, his hands so large against her that she could imagine him encircling her completely, though his fingers weren’t near to touching.

                With his hands on her hips like a guide, she slowly pulled herself up, feeling his cock move within her, so hard and hot she was sure she would lose herself right then and there. Hancock groaned, his fingers kneading the flesh of her body, careful and strong. She pulled herself almost completely off of him, before slowly letting herself press back down the length of him. It was incredible, it was intoxicating; it was theirs.

                She quickly found herself moving faster, her hips bucking against his of their own volition. Her hands found his shoulders, using them as a balance as she bounced. Moans and gasps escaped her lips, his name a tiny prayer in the quiet night air. His eyes stayed locked on her face, as though to blink would be to miss something too important.

She felt him start to buck into her, meeting her movements half-way. She cried out, feeling him hit the deepest parts of her, knowing she wasn’t going to last much longer if he kept it up. He must have felt it as well, because after a few more strokes he leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his. She slid herself down on him, once, twice more, and on the third time felt the spasm of her core. She moaned into the kiss, his name lost to his mouth as she clenched around him. He bucked up once more, and let out a growl deep in his chest that she felt in all the parts of her.

                She collapsed against him, still joined and lay panting heavily. His hands were running the length of her torso, as though to convince himself she was really there, that it hadn’t been a dream. She didn’t move until she felt her heart come down to its normal pace, until she felt the tremors of him calm. She drew back, feeling the warm, slick heat gush from her.

                “It—it tingles,” she said, very, very softly. He pressed his palm to her face, the rough skin feeling cool against her heated cheek.

                “Guess we’ll have to get you some Rad-X if we wanna do that again,” he said through a dazzling smile.

                She pressed her hand against his on her face, and she laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please tell me what you thought of this chapter! I'm very nervous for how it will be received, because it's been so long coming!


	48. I'm Just Feeling Low, Feeling Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chapter with some feels. Gonna get into the action again soon!

Hancock awoke to the sun streaming in through a crack in the roof of the cabin. He felt pleasantly light and rested—a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time. He rolled over in the hopes of keeping that feeling going, only to jolt completely awake as he found the bed empty.

                “El?” He called out, trying to keep panic out of his voice. He sat up, eyes scanning the small room. There was no answer. He got up, clumsily finding his clothes as he tried to calm his mind. Still, visions of El alone and upset plagued him, making tying the laces on his boots almost impossible as he struggled to hurry himself.

                “El?” He called again as he pushed outside, the door of the cabin scraping in the dirt and making a terrible noise. It had to be mid-morning; he could see settlers milling about in the distance, and hear the dull noise of people working. He scanned the area, eyes lighting on anyone he thought might be El. His heart was beginning to race. Where could she have gone? Why didn’t she wake him?

                He jogged around the side of the cabin, and finally he saw her. She was leaned over the low rock wall that lined the river, gazing out across the water. His heart came back out of his throat and he slowed his step, coming up beside her with a loud step so as not to surprise her.

                “You should leave a guy a note, Sunshine.” He said, leaning casually against the wall and looking down towards her. He was searching her face for any signs she was upset, any possible shred of doubt or regret about what had happened the night before. Her face was a mask, set so he couldn’t read much there. She was good at that.

                “Sorry, I wanted to think.” She said, not taking her eyes off the water. For the first time since seeing her and knowing she was alright, he let himself feel a bit nervous.

                “Think about what?” He asked, not wanting to beat around the bush. This wasn’t a kids game here. If she was uncomfortable, or didn’t like what had happened, he needed to know. He needed to make sure he didn’t become part of the problem.

                “I-I don’t know… Or maybe I do… it’s hard to articulate what’s in my head sometimes.” She said. He crossed his arms, his own mind going a mile a minute.

                “El, if you didn’t want to do that last night, or if you don’t want to do it again, it’s-,” he began, but she hung her head and turned to him, stopping him mid-sentence.

                “It’s not that, John. It really isn’t.” She said, and he could see lines of strain carved into her forehead, and dark circles beneath her eyes that he hadn’t seen since they had begun sleeping next to each other.

                “It’s something, Sunshine. I don’t want anything I do to ever make you-,”

                “I promise it’s not you, John. That’s the thing that makes this so hard. Makes everything so hard.” She said, and he could see that she truly was struggling to try to explain things.

                “Take your time, El. Talk slow. I’ll understand.” He coaxed. On a whim he reached out, taking one of her small hands in his. She was cold, even standing in the sun as she did.

                “When I was… When Rex…” She stuttered, her hand twining in his as though she could make him understand through touch alone. He gave her fingers a soft squeeze, trying to convey patience and understanding as much as he could.

                “He took things from me I didn’t think he could, John. Before all of this, before he- they took me, I knew who I was. I knew I was a person. I-I liked myself. Yeah, shitty things had happened to me. And yeah, I didn’t really want to go on here, in the Wasteland with everything taken from me. But I was whole. I was still me.” She said, and he could hear her trying to put the words into some semblance of sense. He was quiet, and let her continue.

                “But- but he changed that. And he was so fucking good at it. I had already had everything I cared about taken from me. But then he took the things I didn’t think anyone could. He took away who I was, John.” She said, her voice almost pleading.

                “Sometimes he would come into the room, turn on the radio, and just sit, listening to Travis try to piece together where I went. He would come and tell me they weren’t looking, that I was nobody. That no one really cared.” She said, and her voice wavered, the emotion coming to the surface.

                “El, you know-,” he began, but she shook her head.

                “At first I did, I knew what he was doing. I knew it was bullshit. This is what-what abusers do. They bring you down, undermine everything you know so you have to rely on them for everything. I knew that. I could ignore it—at first.” Her voice came out, almost a whisper at the last words. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and she wiped at it impatiently.

                “But it was constant. And he would leave the radio playing all the time. And eventually they stopped looking. Eventually it was like I didn’t exist. But he still called me Ella Carson, Savior of the Commonwealth, Ella Carson, Sole Survivor. Ella Carson, Hero of the Wastes. He turned everything I had done, all the good I thought I was doing against me, John. Between that and the chems… I was nobody.” She trailed off, her eyes glued to the ground in front of them. He could feel small tremors through where their fingers touched and wondered if they were from her or from him.

                “I guess what I’m saying- why I’m telling you this, is because I need you to understand that I fight against that feeling every day. And last night…,” she swallowed, a light pink staining her cheeks that in any other circumstance, he would have thought was cute.

                “I- I’m having a hard time, um, accepting that I deserve it. That I deserve you.” Her words spilled out quickly, as though she was embarrassed to speak them. The words hit him like a bullet. He knew what she was saying, but he hadn’t known the severity of it. He had thought they had worked through most of it, that most of the damage had been undone. He felt like an idiot.

                “Sunshine…,” he said, unable to think of anything else that wouldn’t sound woefully inadequate. He pulled her hand, gently guiding her closer to him. He moved carefully, waiting to see if she would allow it, but she made no protest to being pulled into his embrace.

                “I- I just wanted it to last. I wanted it to be nice and I wanted to feel happy again, to feel normal. But you fell asleep and- and my brain…,” she sniffed, her words coming out muffled in his shirt. He kissed the top of her head, unsure what to do, what to say.

                “I’ll show you, El. I’ll show you every damn day that you deserve this, and more. You deserve the world, Sunshine, please believe me.” He said, feeling even as he did that he knew words wouldn’t fix this. He knew this was a pain that only time—and action—could repair.

                Above all else, John Hancock knew he would kill that fucking Raider.

 


	49. Back off, Don't Stray

 

                “We lost County Crossing and Greygarden,” Preston explained, his hand lightly skimming the crude map of the settlements he had laid out on the table. There were two large X’s marked through the settlements he pointed to. Two large reminders of what her time in captivity had cost.

                “County Crossing got overrun by Mutants coming in from the old satellite station. Most of the people managed to get out, make their way here. But-,” he trailed off, his voice wavering as he looked at her. El nodded at him to continue.

                “We lost everyone in Greygarden. Fifteen people all together. Feral ghouls, came in the night—they didn’t stand a chance,” he said, voice solemn. El swallowed hard, her palms suddenly sweaty. She knew what everyone would say; it wasn’t her fault, there was no way she could have helped, even had she been there. But the guilt ate at her nonetheless.

                “Can we take them back?” she asked, forcing herself to look Preston in the eyes. The day was gloomy, threatening rain, but she could still see him clearly in the dim light of the room they were in. She and Hancock had met with Preston that morning, going over what needed to be done in Sanctuary, what needed to be done in other settlements. She had forced him to tell her about the lost settlements. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, hadn’t wanted her to feel responsible. But wasn’t she?

                “County Crossing can probably be taken back. But the satellite array will need to be dealt with. Greygarden… well, most of it is burned to the ground. In the confusion it-it wasn’t pretty General,” he spoke honestly, with a pang of his own guilt she could hear clearly.

                “Okay, then we’ll take County Crossing back. We can shore up other settlements along the way also. We still have some supply caravans running, right?” she asked, feeling somewhat bolstered now that she had some semblance of a goal. Preston perked up as well at hearing her change in tone.

                “A few. Most run through the ruins, keeping supplies going through Diamond City and Bunker Hill. Spectacle Island is still quite the hub as well, despite it being hell to get out there,” he answered. She nodded abstractedly, thinking about her possibilities. Hancock shifted behind her and she turned to smile at him. His crooked smile in return made her stomach do flips.

                “Okay. So call in for wood and supplies for turrets. I’ll head out to County Crossing, look over the situation. I’ll get the radio tower working again once it’s cleared, and send for the supplies. With any luck we can have the place livable again in a week or so,” she said, a confidence in her voice that she wasn’t entirely sure she felt. Preston gave her a rare smile.

                “It’s good to have you back, General.”

 

.....

 

                “You think you’re up to this kinda thing, Sunshine?” Hancock asked as they got out of earshot of Preston and the few Minutemen that they had been meeting with. The rain had begun; big fat drops that had most people heading inside. They picked up the pace as they headed for her cabin.

                “Yeah. It’s Supermutants, right? No problem,” she answered, trying to sound sure. Hancock kept pace beside her, his coat turning dark as the rain soaked it.

                “I ain’t talking about the fact that it’s Mutants, El. I’m talking about-,” he began, but she cut him off.

                “I know what you’re talking about, John. But I can’t keep hiding. I can’t keep putting things off, keeping life on hold. I have to get back out there. I have to-,” she faltered, and he picked up where she left off.

                “You have to be a damn hero,” he said, though with no maliciousness in his voice. They hit the door to her cabin and pushed inside, just as the rain began to fall in earnest. It was loud on the corrugated metal roof, but it was dry.

                “I have to help. If I can,” she spoke as she stripped off the jacket she wore, tossing the sodden garment over a chair in the corner. Hancock removed his hat and shook the water off before following suit with his own jacket and coming to sit next to her on the bed.

                “I told you once before, Sunshine. You don’t gotta do anything if you don’t want to. Hell, you could go find a cave to live in in the middle of the Glowing Sea and as long as I could get smokes I’d follow you,” he said, though she knew he was just trying to lighten the mood. She thought he might be afraid. And could she blame him?

                “You know I can’t do that, John. I-I can help. So I should,” she said, her voice soft beneath the sound of the rain.

                “I know. And I know trying to tell you any different is like talking to a brick wall. But I gotta try. You know I’ll be right there with you, right?” he asked, though it wasn’t necessary. She knew he’d go where she went—no matter where that might be. She nodded in answer, leaning against him. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her and she let herself melt into him.

                “It’s just Supermutants after all. They’re easy,” she said after a time, though the thought didn’t help all that much.


	50. You Got a Shock to Your System

                Hancock tried not to think about the last time he had met Supermutants with El.

                Technically it hadn’t been _with_ El. He had been searching for her after she left Goodneighbor. After she had caught him fucking some drifter to get his mind off her. He had thought when he found her that she was dead. That had been her intention.

                It had been that attack that had led him to convince her to live.

                This time was different. This time they were armed to the teeth, on a mission to take back a settlement from the brutes. This time they were together, they were ready. But flashes of that day still plagued him; her lifeless body, arm stuck out in a disturbing angle from her body, face caked in blood and mud. For the hundredth time that day he told himself that wouldn’t happen this time.

                Hancock had always felt an odd sense of kinship with Supermutants ever since becoming a ghoul. Maybe it was because they were irradiated bastardizations of human beings, just as he was. Or maybe it was the fact that if he went feral—and the possibility of that stared him in the face every day—he wouldn’t be much different from them; basically mindless killing machines.

                That sense of kinship was fading fast however, as he and El sat on the outskirts of the satellite array observing the area. There were 8 mutants that they could count, and an indeterminate number inside the ramshackle buildings they had constructed around the area. He swallowed hard and tried to breathe through the roiling in his stomach. He thought back to how El had handled the Raiders in the Combat Zone and calmed slightly—he wasn’t with some random Wastelander with a pipe pistol here.

                “So I’m thinking we try and take out the Brute first,” she said quietly, gesturing to a significantly larger mutant towards the center of the array. This one wore a helmet where the others didn’t, marking him the probable leader.

                “After that, the others should be easy enough to pick off. Doesn’t seem like a well-armed group of them,” she observed, peeking through the lens of her rifle scope once more.

                “Sounds like a solid plan. You wanna take ‘em from long range?” he asked with a nod to her rifle. She frowned.

                “I think that’s the best way to start. Maybe you can move up a bit and hide, take some shots from behind when they come try to find out where I’m shooting from,” she said, brow furrowed in thought. Hancock wasn’t keen on splitting up, but it was a good tactical idea.

                “Alright, I’ll head over and find a place to the right somewhere,” he said, gesturing to a small copse of dead trees a little ways away. El nodded abstractedly, and Hancock would be lying if he said that her concentration on the task at hand wasn’t attractive.

                “Just keep out of sight, and only take shots at the ones that seem to have a bead on me,” she said, pulling her weapon up once more to take a final look.

                “Also, watch out for any stragglers we didn’t see. Could be that there’s a couple hiding up in the shacks,” she added. He nodded, resisting the urge to wipe his palms against his legs. This was nothing—a couple mutants? Hell, he could probably take them out himself. Why was he so nervous about this?

                “John?” El spoke, bringing his attention back to her. She gave him a quick smile and reached out to him. Her hand was soft and warm on his. He noted how steady she was—her hands didn’t shake at all. It calmed him significantly.

                “Yeah Sunshine?” he answered, meeting that dark green gaze full on.

                “Be careful,” she said unnecessarily, before giving his hand a small squeeze. He smiled at her in response before turning to take his spot.

                It was late afternoon, the sun beginning to turn the surrounding landscape a brilliant gold. They had decided not to come in the dark—there wouldn’t be any advantage really, as mutants didn’t seem to keep any schedule that would help or hinder them. He quickly made his way towards the bushes, keeping low though he was still far enough away that he didn’t think the mutants would see him.

                It seemed an ungodly amount of him before he heard the first crack from El’s rifle. The day was fairly quiet already, and the sudden shatter of that silence had almost made him jump. He saw the Brute jerk as the shot hit him, but then he stood, roaring in anguish as he did. Chaos broke out almost immediately as Mutants began scrambling to try and figure out what had happened. He watched as they picked up any detritus they could find to use as weapons—some forgoing that in favor of their fists.

                The second shot came only a moment later, and he watched as the Brute fell to his knee. He couldn’t tell where El was hitting him from this angle, but from the way the creature grasped at its head, he could guess.

                The other mutants were catching on now, and they began spreading out from the array, casting into the field a few hundred yards from where El was hidden. He watched, ready to take out any who decided to head in her direction. The third shot came, and the Brute’s head jerked back violently. The creature was eerily still for a moment before he fell backwards, causing a small plume of dust to billow up around him. Well, that was that at least.

                Very soon after that came a fourth shot, this one quickly felling a mutant that had strayed the farthest from the array. He raised his weapon and trained it on a Mutant that turned at the shot, his sudden change in demeanor a sign he may know where El was. Hancock pulled the trigger and released three shots into the creature’s spine, dropping it like a bag of tatos.

                Between the two of them, they made short work of the few that had cast themselves into the field. He could see two more, clambering slowly down from the shacks they had built up around the relays. He was just about to head back towards El when something large and very _very_ smelly barreled into him. A mutant hound.

                The thing was huge, ungainly as it scrabbled to regain its footing after knocking Hancock to the ground. Somehow he had managed to keep a hold on his weapon, but he had landed on top of it—the sudden force of the surprise attack knocking the wind out of him. He forced himself to focus, to move. He could hear the thing snarling, its breathing labored through its misshaped face. He got himself up just in time to bring the gun up between him and the hound. The beast’s teeth and claws threatened to tear him open as it lunged towards him once more.

                He heard another shot from El, and it sounded closer—though he couldn’t be sure if it actually was closer, or if his confused and panicked mind was tricking him. He managed to knock the hound back, scrambling with shaking hands he brought the gun up to take the shot, only to find it jammed. He swore loudly to himself, and then heard another shot, this one very close.

                He heard two more things very quickly in succession.

                The first, El’s high pitched yell, panicked and clear. A haunting warning of “Suicider!” calling over the din.

                The second, the too-fast beeping of a Supermutant suicider’s wrist bomb, very evidently getting too close for comfort.

                And then the world exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger for the 50th chapter of this story!


	51. May Death Never Stop You

Ella Carson was standing on the elevator of Vault 111 once more, having just watched the end of the world.

                The familiar heat burned her cheeks, the blinding light of a nuclear bomb searing her retinas and dazzling her with sparks of white light that didn’t fade no matter how much she blinked.  And the smell—no one ever mentioned the smell when talking about a nuclear detonation. It was almost indescribable; a metallic, acrid smell that stuck in your nose and to your clothes. A smell she would never forget.

                She could feel her mouth moving and wondered if she was making noise. She thought she must be; her throat felt raw as though she were screaming. The only thing she could hear was a deafening ringing. It was a cruel pantomime of the beeping of the suicider’s bomb.

                He hadn’t been too close. She had got the thing before it made it to John. She knew she had. She had to have. He couldn’t have been too close. She had been watching; how had she missed it?

                 But she had. The thing had gotten within yards of Hancock before she had taken the first shot. He had been distracted by a hound, completely unaware of the suicider himself.

                Finally the world started to come back into view. Fractals of sunlight still flickered in and out of her vision, but she could make out where she was. She expected a crater—or at least damage to the ground with how large the explosion was. But all she could see was viscera and limbs. She noted detachedly that the limbs were all way too large to be Hancock’s. The thought wasn’t comforting.

                She turned, half dazed, half unsure of where to begin, her mind searching for Hancock’s bright jacket, his hat, his body, anything to clue her into where he was. There was so much blood; the dark red of deep arterial bleeding. She forced herself to believe it was only the Mutant’s blood.

                She was beginning to feel the prickle of radiation now. The bomb’s deadliness was not only the threat of explosion; but the fallout that came after as well. She quickly forgot all about that as her eyes finally lighted on a scrap of red in the grass; too artificial and bright to be blood.

                He was laid out spread eagle on the ground, his hat flung only god-knew where. She could see he at least had all his limbs—that was a start.

                “John!” She cried, and found she could hear herself again. She didn’t seem to move in one fluid motion, instead, the world seemed to skip around her as she ran, only showing her fractions of what she was doing. However it was only an instant before she was to him, her hands running over him desperate to find some sign of life.

                He was whole, that had to count for something, didn’t it? He hadn’t been close enough to be blown to bits, so he could survive, right? She remembered though. Remembered the distance between Sanctuary Hills and the Glowing Sea, where the bomb had dropped over 200 years before. She remembered the carnage, the shockwave that she had felt even at that distance. She felt sick.

                He wasn’t moving. Heedless of the surroundings she flung her weapon down and pressed an ear to his chest.

                Nothing.

                “No. No. No,” she muttered, her hands shaking as she pulled his face towards hers. You weren’t supposed to move people who could have neck injuries. His head lolled sickeningly, his jaw slack in her hand.

                “No. No. No.”

                No blood. Or at least, no significant blood. Scrapes and cuts riddled his face and neck. A thin trail of it had begun to trickle from his nose. She held her hand in front of his face. No air movement.

                “No. No. No, dammit,” she muttered over and over as she frantically moved her almost useless hands over him, desperate for some hint of what to do.

                “CPR. You have to do CPR,” she felt herself say out loud. That was something. Did she know CPR? Yes. She did. She had taken a class after Shaun was born. She knew CPR. Could she remember?

                Quickly she placed her hands over the spot on Hancock’s chest where compressions were supposed to start. She leaned into him, over and over, pressing and releasing, hoping against hope that she was doing it right. Hoping against hope it wasn’t too late.

                After what seemed like the right amount of time, she stopped and put her ear to his chest once more.

                Still nothing.

                “Dammit John,” she swore, sweat springing up on her forehead as she pinched the remains of his nose and tilted back his head, breathing into his slackened mouth. His lips felt incongruously warm. She felt his chest rise under her hand and stopped, hoping it would continue.

                It didn’t.

                “No. No. No.”

                Compressions again. Breathing again.

                “No. No. No.”

                She flung her head to his chest once more, holding her own breath as she listened. Was that something? Her own heartbeat pounded in her ears, making it almost impossible to hear anything else. She pressed her fingers into the side of his neck, searching for a pulse.

                “C’mon, please!” she pleaded, her voice sounding muted to her own ears. More compressions. Her body ached. He wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be dead. She would do this until it worked. That was the only option.

                Once more she pressed her lips to his and forced air into his lungs. This time though, she felt air come rushing back into her mouth. With a jerk she leaned back, watching as his chest fell.

                And rose again on its own.

                “Oh fuck! Oh my god!” she all but screamed, pressing her head back to his chest. There, faint but steady, was the familiar sound of Hancock’s heart, beating away once more.

                “John?” she called, her hands grabbing at his face to pull him towards her. He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed closed, his mouth still half open. Stimpak. He needed a stimpak. She fumbled her pack around and upturned it into the dirt, rifling through the contents until she found what she needed. She jammed the drug unceremoniously into his side, listening as it hissed into him. She did this two more times.

                “John!” she called again, still to no avail. El allowed herself to scan the area. Night was rapidly approaching now, and though it was quiet, she wondered if more Mutants wouldn’t make their way through here at some point, coming in from the settlement they had come to take back.

                “John, please. I need you to wake up,” she begged. Still nothing. This was bad. Very bad. He was breathing, alive. But what did that mean if she couldn’t get him out of this field? Couldn’t get him more help?

                She would have to do something, and fast. She was just about to get up to do—something—when Hancock let out a soft moan.

                “John? John!” she leaned in, hoping he would open his eyes, move, say something. He let out a small cough, and then fell silent once again.

                “You are not going to die out here,” she said, and wondered if she was speaking to him, or to herself. She supposed it really didn’t matter.


End file.
